


Nights Found

by Shit_writer



Category: Days Gone (Video Game)
Genre: Affection, Angst, Fluff, Light Dom/sub, Light feedism, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Nightmares, Oral Sex, Serious Injuries, Trauma, bondage for good reason
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:13:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25452214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shit_writer/pseuds/Shit_writer
Summary: When Deacon gets into an accident, a young stranger takes him in and tries to help him heal. That is if Deacon will let him, anyway.
Relationships: Deacon St. John/ male OC
Comments: 16
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

The moment he was conscious, Deacon exhaled a sigh of relief. He was alive. That’s when the pain kicked in. His ankle and his side burned like a motherfucker. 

“This is bad,” he whispered to the ceiling. 

He couldn’t move and he didn’t know where the hell he was. Well, he was in a bunk, that’s for sure, and a comfortable one at that. The room was shockingly clean, say for the desk that had a bunch of marked maps littered all over the surface and taped to the wall. Hell, the space he shared with Boozer made this place look cleaner than soap. 

The room was at a tall vantage point by the way he could look at the top of the trees outside his window. That meant a lot of stairs to get to his bike—shit— his stuff!

Deacon scanned the room and blinked twice when he saw his guns strategically propped up on the opposite corner of the room. Near the bunk was a low side table with his neatly folded jacket stacked on top and Deacon swears he’s never seen it look so clean. 

This girl— or guy, but it was most likely a girl because men were never this cognizant— was a serious neat-freak who knew the lay of the land well. That’s probably how she found him. 

His hand went to his bandaged side, noting it was soaked with crimson. He lost a ton of blood didn’t he? That’s why he was so damn light headed, despite lying down. 

Deacon heard the footsteps, boot against metal, and they grew increasingly louder. Never one for mysteries, his heart was beating fast just as it always did when he was in a vulnerable position in a fight. Fuck— he felt so naked without his gear. 

The door opened and it was a guy, a young guy, with blonde hair just like… Deacon shifted and eyed him like a hawk when he made eye contact. It made the guy stop and stare back before his eyes settled on Deacon’s soaked bandage. 

Normally, Deacon would punch any stranger who got close to him while he was defenseless and wounded, but he hadn’t seen any survivors with hair like Sarah’s. It made him ache but he couldn’t stop staring. It was like a piece of her just showed up on this kid’s head. 

“Hey!” He snapped and slapped the stranger’s hands away when they pried his bandage. 

“I need to change it,” he replied with a calm yet weighted voice. 

“Where am I?” Deacon asked, eyeing him warily. Blondie took a step back and maintained some distance. Good. 

“My home,” he said and moved to a drawer where he fished out bandages and a bottle of something. 

Deacon rolled his eyes impatiently. “Which is..? Where?”

He ignored him and kneeled beside him. Now that he was closer, Deacon guessed this guy was in his early twenties. 

“This will burn,” he warned. 

No sugar-coating, alright. His eyes were actually grey imposing as green, probably because of his jacket-

“Shit!” His face crumpled with pain when his side burned like hell. To make matters even stranger, the kid blew on his disinfected wound like he was a five year old even if it did help soothe the sting. 

Deacon watched as his deft fingers unraveled the pristine bandage. 

“I need you to sit up,” he said while helping him to gently do so. 

He wondered why the hell it was so hard to breathe when he looked down at his black and blue side. Bruised ribs on top of his punctured side. Wonderful. 

The kid took his hand and urged him to hold the tip of the bandage before he swathed it around his damaged frame. Seriously, he could barely sit up so how the hell was he going to get outta here?

He was eyeing the kid even more warily as he kindly helped him to lay down again. 

“You got a name?” 

“Thomas.”

He nodded. “Deacon. Deacon St. John.”

Thomas nodded in return, bunching up the dirty bandages. He seemed to shift on his feet for a moment before grounding himself again. “Are you hungry?”

Deacon almost laughed in his face. It’s the end of the world, everyone is short on everything, and he asked him if he was hungry? 

With one look at his incredulous expression, Thomas had his answer and he exited the room to descend down the stairs. 

What was up with that kid? He looked young, but he carried himself as if he was forty years older. Then again, with the state of the world, Deacon shouldn’t be surprised. He guessed he was somewhat pleased he wasn’t a fucking idiot like most people his age were. 

Thomas entered carrying a bowl in his hand with a wooden spoon in the other. The smell of what was presumably stew, wafted into his nose and his empty stomach demanded to be fed. He set it down beside the dresser next to the bunk and slowly brought his hands in front of Deacon in a gesture of truce as if he was a wounded dog or something. 

“I’ll help you sit up.”

He wished he could tell the kid that he’d manage, but that’s a lie so he begrudgingly took his help. His hands were careful and firm in helping him up, but as careful as Thomas was, his side still smarted. 

“Alright I’m fine,” he hissed through his teeth when he was finally propped up against the wall. He was handed the bowl. In that simple gesture, it hit him just how well he was being taken care of and it didn’t make sense. “What do you get outta this, Thomas?” 

Thomas furrowed his brows in confusion. “I don’t under-

“I mean do ya just take in any wounded sorry motherfucker and play nurse?”

Thomas regarded him for a second. “You had a serious accident and needed help,” he stated as if it was perfectly natural to take of strangers like this. 

Frankly speaking, this whole “angel” act pissed Deacon off. He didn’t know if was the more suspicious side of him or the wounded part that felt a sense of danger which led him to grab the front of Thomas’s shirt and yank him down until their faces were inches apart. He didn’t care that it hurt his side like a bitch. He needed to know. 

“Who are you with, huh?” He growled, giving him a shake for emphasis. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

That should have scared him or at least riled him up, but Thomas looked at him with a hard gaze and his lips set into a grim line. 

“It’s just me,” he spoke calmly, hand gently wrapping around Deacon’s iron grip. “And the only thing I want is for you not to ruin my stitch work.”

Deacon’s eyes widened before he scanned his grey ones for any sign of retreat or weakness. He didn't find any. He let him go with a grunt before settling against the wall again. His ankle hurt like shit too. 

Thomas kept his eyes trained on the floor. He placed a radio next to his bowl before heading out. 

“Let me know if you need anything.”

He left after that, tail tucked between his legs. Deacon mentally shook himself when he felt a twinge of guilt for being so rude, but he didn’t want to think about it. 

“Pfft stitch work,” he snorted, eyeing the food. “Yeah, okay.”

He grabbed the bowl and raised the spoon to his lips, guilt returning. 

The stew was fucking delicious.


	2. Chapter 2

He drifted between reality and sleep, taking turns to spend time in both states. Currently, Deacon was staring at the radio Thomas left behind for the umpteenth time. Shit, was this how Boozer felt at O’Leary mountain with his arm? This sucked.

His ankle was worse than his ribs and punctured side, unfortunately. He didn’t know if it was broken, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it was. Riding his bike will have to wait for a long time. Deacon would sigh loudly if his ribs would let him. He was so damn tired even though he just slept.

He wondered where Thomas was sleeping. There was only one bunk in his place and he was currently on it. Who knew, maybe he had something to lie on downstairs.

His ears picked up the sound of light footsteps before Thomas walked in carrying two bowls of stew. His stomach rumbled at the sight and smell of the food. The blonde wordlessly set the food down before moving close to Deacon.

“It’s fine. I got it,” he grunted, struggling to sit up. Thomas gave him a doubtful look. It was pathetic that he couldn’t even manage something that simple.

But pathetic or not, his hands helped him to sit up again and handed him his stew.

“Thanks,” Deacon said.

Thomas nodded in acknowledgment before grabbing his portion and heading over to sit by the desk away from him as if he was some cagey animal. Jesus Christ, it wasn’t intimidation so much as his rudeness that probably forced the kid to distance himself.

“Um,” Deacon started, “you know you don't have to sit all the way over there.” He cleared his throat. “I, uh, don’t bite.”

Grey eyes stared at him before he got up to drag his chair closer to the bunk. They ate for a moment in silence. Curiosity and the need to shatter the awkward silence led him to play twenty questions.

“This is good,” He ever so eloquently commented about the stew. “A lotta venison in here. You hunt?”

“Yeah I do.”

Boy, was he a man of many words. They went back into silence until Thomas cleared his throat.

“I have a garden too. Downstairs I mean.”

Deacon figured. The tomato broth had to come from somewhere.

“That’s quite a score.”

“Yeah. I’m lucky,” Thomas said into his stew.

With the state of the world, Deacon never thought he’d hear those words again. “Where’d you find seeds to begin with?”

Thomas paused for a moment as if trying to come up with an answer. “It came with the place. I..just take care of them.”

“Hm.” He took another bite. Since he’s not much of a talker, he bet conversation was killing him, but he couldn’t help himself. “So it really is just you out here?”

Thomas looked at him, eyes appearing darker now that it was night. He must have sensed the underlying subtext within his question.

“Yeah,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “You’re safe.”

Deacon snorted at that, but still felt uneasy at how much of an open book he was to him. “No one’s safe.”

“We are up here.” Thomas got up from his seat and offered his hand for Deacon’s empty bowl. He placed it in his hand but held onto it, causing grey eyes to meet his.

“Thank you.”

Deacon caught the ghost of a smile on his face before he shrugged it off and made his way to the door. Thomas looked back.

“You’re welcome.”

He descended downstairs.

Deacon exhaled before his side smarted. Stupid idea, but at least now he wasn’t a total asshole to the one person who saved his life.

…

A loud boom woke him up from his nap and sent his heart racing. It wasn’t too far off from their location and Deacon wished he didn’t just have his boot knife for company. He grabbed the radio next to the bunk.

“This is Deacon St. John. Thomas, come in.”

He heard it again and that shit sounded like it was closer than the first one. Thankfully, Thomas decided to pick up his damn radio.

_“This is Thomas.”_

“You hear that?”

_“Yeah. I’ll take care of it.”_

He couldn’t help but scoff at his confidence. Who the hell knew what was out there, so close to them too. It sounded like a damn explosion.

“You sure you know what you’re doin’?”

Thomas didn’t hesitate which was a small comfort.

_“Rest up, I’ll be back soon. Thomas out.”_

“Rest up,” Deacon repeated to himself and tossed the radio beside him. It was ridiculous. This had to be karma getting back at him for what he caused Boozer to endure. He groaned at the pain when he shifted on the bunk. He didn’t blame karma, but both of his sides and his ankle? It was a bit much.

He lay there on the bunk and flinched when he heard another goddamn explosion again. Molotovs. Deacon just hoped Thomas was the one throwing them.

He was rather impressed at how he was surviving. The fact that he knew how to hunt, had medical supplies in full stock, and had a fucking garden, which was nothing short of a goldmine, were all impressive, but… Surviving was one thing and killing while you’re out in the shit is another. He could do it, sure, but who knows if Thomas could make it on his own.

He grabbed the radio again.

“It’s Deacon. What’s going on?”

He waited, but got no answer.

“Thomas?”

Nothing.

“Well shit,” he muttered.

If the kid wasn’t back by sundown, he was done for. Deacon hoped it wouldn’t come to that.


	3. Chapter 3

It was way into the dead of night and he couldn’t sleep. Thomas hadn’t made it back and he didn’t think he would. Deacon frowned and tried to sit up, hissing and groaning when he jostled his wounds as he did so. He shouldn’t ruin Thomas’s stitches like he said, but he wouldn’t care now. It was a real fucking shame. He tried the radio again. 

“This is Deacon St. John. Thomas report.”

It wasn’t fair. Nothing about life was, but every time he got a piece of Sarah, anything that reminded him about her, it was fucking snatched away from him, blown up, shot down, or stolen. The only thing he had left was her photo and a bunch of memories to haunt him. Everything else was gone. 

He peeked his head up when he heard footsteps again. Either it was Thomas or some other thief wanting to pay him a visit. If it was the latter, he had his knife ready. As soon as he saw the blonde hair, he sheathed his knife in his boot with relief. 

Thomas stumbled in looking like an exhausted mess. 

“Why didn’t you pick up your goddamn radio?” 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “There was no time.”

“Yeah?” Deacon asked, eyeing him for any injuries. He found them. “How ‘bout your little stroll back here? Couldn’t say something then?”

“You’re right,” Thomas breathed and practically collapsed in the chair. Deacon caught the nasty gash by his temple and his thigh was torn as well. “Give me a sec. I’ll change your bandages soon. Just gotta—

Deacon stared at him with wide eyes as he let his rifle slip onto the floor. Thomas bent over in the chair, trying to catch his breath. The kid looked like shit and he was worried about changing his bandages?

“Freaks?” He asked knowingly. 

Thomas nodded. “And marauders. They were taking down the horde-

“Wait, what, there was a horde?”

He grabbed his side. “Yeah. Headed here. Took care of it, so don’t worry.”

He tried not to gawk. “...and the marauders?”

His face scrunched up with pain. “They took on the horde first. That’s the explosion you heard. I took down whatever was left of them.”

Well shit. Look at him go. “G-good. Good job,” he said, clearing his throat. Thomas snorted and it looked like he smiled for a split second but it may have been a grimace. 

“Thanks.” He slowly stood up and made his way to the medicine cabinet. 

“H-hey now, c’mon, don’t- I’m fine. Worry about yourself.”

“I’m fine,” he said and grabbed what he needed. 

“You look like shit,” Deacon deadpanned. 

“Thanks,” he said, stifling a groan, “not so bad yourself.” 

Deacon muttered under his breath as the stubborn idiot dragged the chair closer. He undid the soaked bandage, wanting to get it over with, and threw it on the floor. Thomas fixed him a look and bent down to snatch it. Deacon smirked at the neat-freak and snatched the disinfectant. 

“I got it,” he said. He disinfected the sonofabitch and gritted his teeth when it stung badly. Thomas helped him wrap the bandages around his frame again. When he took what was extra and slumped in the chair, Deacon tossed him the alcohol. 

“Here.” 

He caught it with ease and began to undo his belt. Deacon should have given the guy his privacy when he lowered his pants, but his eyes transfixed on the large, deep cut on his thigh. Yikes. 

“That won’t seal up on its own,” he said. 

Thomas nodded and tried not to limp his way to the desk to get a white box from the bottom drawer. His entire leg was coated with blood. He slumped back into the chair, stifling another groan, and took out a needle from the kit. Deacon was almost tempted to hiss for him. 

Thomas gritted his teeth as he began to sew up his thigh. For a guy who was exhausted, injured, and no doubt had lost a good amount of blood, his hand was steady. 

“You’re pretty good at that,” Deacon pointed out. 

“Yeah,” he grounded out, trying to keep quiet about the pain. “My uncle taught me.”

“Your uncle huh?”

Thomas froze. His eyes were wide as if he revealed something he shouldn’t have. It piqued Deacon’s curiosity and made his brows furrow. 

“He teach you how to hunt?”

“Forget I- gnh- said anything.”

“Pff, alright,” he said while leaning his head back. “You brought it up.”

That earned him a glare. Deacon didn’t shy away from it and met his hard gaze head on, searching his eyes that had seen too much. Thomas looked away. 

When he finished stitching and wrapping himself up he grabbed his pants from the floor and started to stitch the large tear. Sarah had a favorite red sweater that had a hole in it. He always remembered her saying she wished she could sew properly. He wished he could tell her that she’d still look good in a sweater full of holes. She’d look good in anything. 

“Deacon?”

He snapped out of his daze. Thomas regarded him with concern. It was his turn to look away. 

“I’m fine,” he said with a hard edge to his voice. “Focus on yourself.”

Thomas opened his mouth to say something before he shut it. His shoulders were slumped when he opened the door to go out. 

“Uh, Thomas?” He called and pointed to his own temple when Thomas looked. 

“Oh, right,” he said, seeming to remember his wounded temple and he grabbed the sterilizer and some gauze from off the desk. He hesitated before stepping out, turning to look back at him. “Um, goodnight.”

Deacon arched a brow. “Night.”

He stared for a moment before closing the door behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

When he woke up, Thomas was sitting at his desk, hunching over something that looked like a book. Deacon sat up with a groan. 

“Morning,” Thomas greeted him. 

“Is it?” He asked, but judging by the brightness of the room, he’d say it was. 

“Yeah. Sorry there’s no breakfast. Food will be ready a little later. Hope that’s okay.”

This kid was a real thoughtful piece of work. “It’s fine.” He stared at his bandaged temple. “How are ya holdin’ up?”

“Fine,” he shrugged and stood up to walk over to the bookshelf. “It’s just a scratch.”

“A scratch, sure.” He noticed the way his walk had a slight limp to it. Damn freaks. “Hey, what do you do downstairs? It’s just, uh, I hear you down there and-

“Well…” he scrubbed the back of his neck. “Aside from the garden and building tools, your bike was completely wrecked when I found you.”

Deacon looked at him with an incredulous expression. “You fixed my bike?”

“Fixing yeah. I’m shy on a couple of parts but-

“You know how to fix a bike?”

“Well, yeah,” Thomas stated. He shifted under Deacon’s scrutinizing gaze. 

“Do you know how to fix ‘em _well?”_

Thomas crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, pride intact. “Obviously.”

“You better,” he huffed, “if I find that she’s inoperable after I’m able to ride, I’m gonna have to kick your ass.”

Thomas chuckled even though he knew he was serious. Deacon stared at his grey eyes when they crinkled with amusement and at his uniform teeth that were exposed to let out a soft laugh. 

“That’s if you can get down the stairs first.”

Deacon threw the bottle of sterilizer next to the bunk at him which hit his arm before landing on the floor. 

“Smartass,” he muttered. 

Thomas, still smiling, picked up the bottle off the floor. 

“Hey I, uh, have some books in case you wanted to um, pass the time.”

Deacon raised a brow and wanted to ask him if he looked like a guy who read books, but all that came out was, “um that’s fine. I’m not much of a reader.”

His eyes lit up anyway. “They’re really good, though.” He went and fished out a paperback from the shelf before handing it to him. 

“ _A Spectacle of Corruption_ ,” he read awkwardly. 

“It’s sort of part of a series, but it can stand alone. I couldn’t recover the first one.” He sounded really bummed about it. 

“What happened to it?” 

Thomas frowned and avoided his gaze. “It was ruined. Most of the pages were ripped out.”

“That’s too bad,” Deacon commented, and carefully set the treasured book on the dresser next to the bunk. “Kinda sounds like it was done on purpose.”

A flash of anger passed over his face. “It was.” He turned his back to him as of to collect himself. 

The fact that Deacon had all but yelled at him and even laid his hands on him wasn’t enough to tick him off but something as simple as a book was enough to affect his cool demeanor. It interested him. “What was it about?” 

“An ex-boxer who broke away from his family.” His posture relaxed a bit when recounting what his favorite book was about. Deacon almost enjoyed the way his eyes lit up while talking about it. “He becomes a detective for hire. Kind of like Sherlock Holmes but without the asshole aspect anyway.”

He snorted a little at that. “I kinda get the feeling your nose was always in a book before the outbreak.”

The corner of Thomas’s mouth lifted. “What gave it away?”

“The fact that ya got a favorite book for starters.”

“Yeah, well, your average exciting textbook wasn’t as riveting as, say, historical fiction.”

Thomas confirmed his thoughts. “Figures you were a student. Middle school?” He jested. 

“University,” Thomas rolled his eyes. “Don’t age me too much now.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “So were you always in a gang?”

Deacon almost coughed at his forwardness. “ _Club,_ thank you, and no. I was in the army.”

Thomas nodded as if silently confirming something to himself. “I was thinking about joining.”

“Why didn’t you?” 

Most people see one or two military movies and they get a sudden urge to join based off an ignorant presumption, having no inkling at how hard, dirty, and humbling the experience would be. 

Thomas shrugged. “The world ended.”

Ah. 

“Did that happen during your tour?” Thomas asked, referring to his scarred forearm. 

Deacon remembered the phantom sensation of fire searing his flesh, Carlos pacing about the room like a wild, deranged animal, and how it had to be one of the most painful things he’d have to endure. Still, it somewhat made sense. Boozer lost his arm and his was scarred to hell. 

“No,” he said gruffly. “Rippers.” 

Thomas’s eyes widened before staring at his marred flesh, eyes full of sympathy. He didn’t know why he chose to divulge that bit of information, but he blamed the kid. Few actually listened to him, simply pestering, ordering, or prying, but it wasn’t like Deacon was making it easy for them. Any chance he had to hop back on his bike, he took it. 

Thomas tore his eyes away from his scars and quit the silence by placing the book near the bed. 

“Alright I’m gonna be downstairs with the food. Radio me if you need anything.”

“Yeah, alright,” Deacon said, frowning when Thomas shut the door. He eyed the book, not quite trusting himself to handle it and not wanting to either. 


	5. Chapter 5

He dreamed about that night again. About Sarah bleeding out in a chopper as it took her away from him, flying her out of his life. 

_ Boozer was beating him bloody and he was trying to shield his face from his iron fists that pounded him again and again.  _

_ “You fucking left her!” He screamed, punctuating every word with a punch. “You left her and you fucking took away my arm, Deek!” _

_ “I-I’m sorry!” He cried out. Boozer kept pummeling him.  _

_ “Sorry ain’t gonna cut it you piece of shit.” _

_ The wave of punches stopped and Deacon looked at his infected hands, the grey infection spreading slowly up to his neck.  _

_ “You’re worse than the freaks,” Boozer growled, pure hatred in his eyes. He sliced his throat with his blade arm, drawing out of him tears and sick gurgling of blood. “Her blood is on your hands.” _

“Deacon!” 

He jerked violently on the bunk and pushed away hands that tried to steady him. His uneven breaths came in and out loudly as he tried to calm his racing heart down. He felt a warm hand on his knee and another one on his arm. 

“You’re okay,” Thomas reassured him, caressing his arm up and down. Deacon used that to his advantage and steadied his breathing. “You’re alright.”

Deacon looked into his caring eyes, blonde hair, and the hand on his knee and he wondered why he didn’t push him away. The caressing stopped. 

“You want me to stay here?”

Deacon glared at him. “Just go,” he said in a hushed, dismissive tone. 

Thomas pursed his lips and he caught the action, staring at his mouth. It seemed Thomas caught him staring and he halted his movements. Deacon noticed just how damn close they were. Like two magnets, they seemed to be growing closer before it dawned upon him what he was doing. Thomas sensed his hesitation and he removed his touch altogether and stood up to leave. He shut the door behind him wordlessly, and Deacon realized that his heart hadn’t stopped racing. 


	6. Chapter 6

They didn’t speak for the whole half of the next day because Deacon was running last night’s close call over and over in his mind, trying to make sense of it. Holy shit, they almost kissed. Him. With fucking  _ Thomas.  _ Sure, it’s not like the kid wasn’t attractive; he was lean, had nice eyes, and a symmetrical facial structure. Of course his hair was great to look at and it always looked so damn soft and...where was he going with this? Right— their lips almost met. 

Deacon scrubbed a hand over his face. He remembered how close he and Rikki came that night, but technically it was she that came onto him. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t completely interested, but this time it was him leaning forward and taking initiative. Deacon slumped his head back on the bunk’s pillow, headache blooming from this mental exercise. He should’ve just punched the kid. Hell, he would’ve if it was anyone else, so… why didn’t he? And why the hell did Thomas lean forward?

The radio buzzed to life, breaking his thoughts. 

_ “Hey Deacon? Are you awake?”  _

He considered lying, but was too damn bored to be left alone. He grabbed the radio. 

“I’m up.”

_ “Great. I’ll be up in a sec. Thomas out.” _

He sounded excited for some reason. Deacon was surprised Thomas wasn’t ignoring him right now, being socially awkward and all. At first, he thought he would rarely talk to him, but he did seem to open up a lot more than when they initially met. Maybe they would’ve talked sooner if he hadn’t grabbed his shirt and threatened him like an asshole. 

Thomas was holding something tall and wooden behind his back when he entered and it made him sit up with interest. 

“I have a surprise,” he announced with a small smile. Deacon tried not to let it get to him.

“Wh-what is it?”

Thomas revealed a pair of wooden crutches and walked them over to him. Deacon’s eyes widened before he turned his attention to the smiling blonde. 

“Happy Birthday.”

“Where’d you get these?”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

Deacon ran his hand down the sanded wood and paused over a bolt. He heard the sound of metal clanging outside during the day, but also of sawing and it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

“You made these didn’t you?”

Thomas shoved his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, well there was some extra wood in the back, and plus I thought you needed because you’ll want to walk eventually, um, when your side isn’t bothering you-

“Thomas,” he cut off his nervous rambling and gave him a smile, “thanks. I owe ya.”

He shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything. It’s my pleasure.”

With the mention of that word and the way he was staring at him, Deacon felt his pulse pick up its pace. He cleared his throat and tore his gaze away, slowly sitting up with a groan. He swung his healthy leg over the bunk and took the crutches into each hand.

“Wait,” Thomas protested, “are you sure you want to get up now? Your side isn't h—

“It’s fine.”

Deacon slowly, painfully, but surely arose onto his healthy foot. When he tried to take his first step, his side roared with pain and he would have crumpled to the floor if Thomas wasn’t there to catch him.

“Whoa easy!”

Deacon dropped the crutches and held onto him by his shoulder. 

“Nhg, I’m n-not a horse, Thomas,” he retorted, leaning into his solid, warm frame for support.

“No, you’re a stubborn mule.”

“I’m a what?” he wheezed. 

Thomas tightened his hold on his upper torso and swathed his arm around his shoulder. “Careful.” he slowly lowered him down onto the bunk.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed. 

“I should have waited before giving you those,” Thomas admitted. “Sorry.”

“You saying I have no self-control?”

“Hey you said it,” he joked, before sobering up, “but no. I’m saying you’re restless and eager to walk.” He snatched the crutches and propped them against the wall near his bunk. “Are you okay?” he asked sincerely, always so sincere and thoughtful, it was driving him up the wall. “You’re sweating a lot.”

“It’s hot.”

Thomas frowned at him. “No, it’s not.” 

His palm cupped his forehead and then the side of his face. As nice as it felt, Deacon wanted to shove him, but he quickly removed his hand before he could. 

“You’re warm. I’ll be right back.”

Deacon groaned in frustration. “Just leave it!”

He was heading down the stairs rapidly. He heard the sound of an engine roaring to life and riding off. 

…

Something was wrong with him. He felt so fucking sick. Deacon wished he could just take off his pants and sleep in his boxers if it weren’t for his stupid ankle. God, why was it so damn  _ hot? _

He heard the engine of a bike outside, downstairs and it was about damn time Thomas came back. It was dark as shit in his— Thomas’s—room and usually the moonlight was enough to flood it with light, but he guessed the moon wasn’t full anymore. 

The door opened and a lantern was turned on near the desk revealing Thomas and his tousled blonde hair, holding a cup of something hot. He was helping him to sit up before bringing the cup to his lips. Deacon didn’t need to taste it to know what it was.  _ Lavender.  _

He slapped the cup away from him, its hot contents wetting the front of Thomas’s shirt. 

“AH! What the hell-

“Get out!” he yelled. 

Thomas’s eyes widened with hurt and confusion.

“Deacon, I-I don’t understand.”

He glared at those wide grey eyes that were always so fucking innocent looking despite being able to kill a fucking horde, and he lost it. 

“Get the fuck out!” Deacon screamed, causing Thomas to flinch. “Are you deaf!? Get the fuck away from me!”

His eyes filled with hurt and he all but ran out, slamming the door behind him. 

Deacon bunched up his hair and curled into a ball on the bunk. He could still smell the fucking lavender. Sarah.  _ Sarah.  _ She’s gone. He killed her. She’s—

His eyes were wet when he buried them into the pillow, passing out eventually. 


	7. Chapter 7

_ “Deek?” _

It was her. Her voice echoed throughout the dark room. He sniffed and turned his face from the pillow. His throat felt dry when he tried to speak. 

“Sarah?”

He felt a cool, calloused hand cup his forehead and the side of his face. 

_ “Why’d you do it, Deek?” _

Fuck, she sounded so hurt and broken. He couldn’t take it.

“Shit—Sarah, I-I didn’t- I c-couldn’t—

He was being shushed and the hand left his face to smooth his hair back. It felt good. But he didn’t deserve to feel good. Not after leaving Sarah. She fucking bled out on a chopper  _ alone- _

_ “Why’d you leave me?” _

“God, Sarah, I’m so sorry—

_ “No! You left me!” _

A sob tore through his damaged, trembling frame. The hand left his face to encourage him to lean forward before something more solid settled behind him. Strong lean arms wrapped around him. Deacon hummed and let his head settle on his shoulder. His hand rose and found the soft blonde strands, running them through his fingertips. He heard Thomas inhale sharply and stiffen.

“Soft,” he mumbled, “like hers.”

Thomas took his hand away from his hair and brought his fist back to his chest, holding it there. He frowned and nestled closer, burying his nose against his neck. He inhaled the smell of pine, sawdust, and something else that smelled purely of Thomas. Anything to save him from the lavender. 

“I’m here,” he whispered in his ear. “Sleep.”

Deacon didn’t need to be told twice. 

  
  
  


…

  
  


He groggily opened his eyes and noted how the bunk felt different, sounded different. Bunks don’t have a heartbeat. Deacon looked up and and his eyes widened when he was a couple of inches away from Thomas’s sleeping face. 

The fuck happened last night? He knew he had a rough sleep and he dreamed of Sarah again, but what was Thomas doing letting him use him as a pillow? 

His eyes softened when saw how peaceful he looked when sleeping. For a moment, he forgot the world had ended when he focused on his face. Deacon noticed the dark circles under his eyes which stood out against his normal even, golden skin tone. He definitely needed to talk to Thomas about where and when he was getting shut eye. He’ll just need to leave out the...touching aspect out of that conversation. 

He stared at his eyelashes as his heart picked up its pace. Thomas came to him. Again. He couldn’t force or stop a man from using his own free will. It’s not like he was a touchy, needy bitch that pulled him close every time he was hurting. With that thought, Deacon allowed himself to lower his head back to the firm chest where he heard the gentle drum of his steady heartbeat. His hand curled around the fabric of his grey shirt and he sighed in content. 

Who knew he could be so damn comfortable with a busted side and a fractured ankle? Okay, his side wasn’t bothering him all that much anymore, but he knew his ankle needed more time to heal. He didn’t tell Thomas because he wasn't in the mood to hear his concerned bitching, but he practiced using the crutches he crafted him when he was downstairs or out hunting. As soon as his body’s temperature will not to throw a tantrum, he’ll be able to go down those stairs in no time. 

His eyes caught the way Thomas’s shirt rode up his stomach, exposing a small amount of skin. His stomach fluttered and his curiosity encouraged him to lower his hand down and to carefully lift the hem of his shirt higher, exposing toned muscle and what looked like a splash of angry red on his skin. 

Shit. He did this. 

A dam of guilt burst and washed all over him. The kid brought him to his home, cleaned him up, was fixing his bike, cleared out a horde, tended to him first before he stitched himself up, crafted him fucking crutches and made him fucking tea and  _ what _ did he do? He burned him. Fuck, he was a real piece of shit. Sarah, Boozer, and now Thomas. 

The tips of his fingers caressed the skin that wasn't burned, near his hip bone. Thomas let out a small sound and it made him feel the temperature rise a little more. He felt the body under him stir and he closed his eyes immediately. 

“Hm?”

Thomas sounded like one of those goddamn golden retrievers. He tried to keep his limbs still as not to betray the fact that he wasn’t really sleeping. He felt Thomas gently slide underneath him and carefully handle him like he was a fragile piece of china. Thomas’s palm settled on his forehead which made his heart rate spike. When his hand then traveled to smooth back his hair, Deacon felt his breath hitch. 

His hand left and he heard footsteps drift farther away. The sound of a door gently closing filled his ears before he later heard the thrum of a bikes engine until that too traveled out of his ear shot. He opened his eyes and grabbed the crutches next to him and slowly got up off the bunk, groaning softly when a few of his joints cracked. 

“Alright, where are you?” 

He checked under every surface and in every cabinet door until he opened the bathroom door. 

“Found you,” he said and snatched the bundle of lavender before hobbling back and setting to work.


	8. Chapter 8

He heard the sound of a bike pull in so he grabbed his radio. 

“Thomas, get up here.”

He didn’t answer but he heard him climb the stairs anyway. The blonde stood by the door staring at him for a moment before stepping in. He kept his distance and Deacon didn’t know what to think about that, other than he didn’t like it. 

Thomas rubbed the back of his neck. “Um…”

“Get over here,” Deacon ordered, watching him obey and stand in front of him. “Now, uh..take your shirt off.”

“W-what?” Thomas sputtered. 

Deacon raised the jar of salve he made. “It’s, um, for your burn.”

Realization dawned on his face. “Oh, uh, what is it?”

“It’s an ointment. Lavender is good for burns.”

“Wow. I didn’t know that.” He stepped closer to take it. “Thank you-

“Oh no,” he said, snatching it back, “don’t thank me yet.” He patted the space next to him on the bunk. 

Thomas began to move before he hesitated, his face a shade redder. “Uh, I can put it on just fine.”

He sensed a familiar memory with Boozer and shook his head. “Yeah the last person who promised me that, things didn’t end well.” Around that time he witnessed his blood poisoning and his fever, he had discovered the jar had remained untouched on the table. Still, he should have made sure, but he was always quick to run away instead.

Thomas sat down next to him, holding in a wince. “So how do you wanna- where should I—

“Just lie down.”

Thomas laid down on the bunk with the lower part of his body being held upright by his legs. Deacon turned toward him, mindful of his ankle, and slid the hem of his shirt up to his sternum. His upper abdominal area was an angry red and Deacon once again pushed the guilt down. He dipped his fingers into the jar coating them with the ointment and began to gently rub it into the burned skin. Thomas let out a small hiss and bucked under his hand, but otherwise he let him apply it completely. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Thomas said dismissively. “You weren’t exactly yourself.”

“I wasn’t,” Deacon admitted, “but it still ain’t right.”

Technically he was done, but his hand traveled to the uninjured area around his navel and lingered there. 

“You, uh,” he cleared his throat, “must be curious…”

Thomas remained still and swallowed thickly. “Y-yeah but...the details don’t matter. She was someone important to you.”

His palm flattened on his abdomen. “Yeah,” he whispered. “She was.”

Thomas was looking at him with sadness in his eyes and Deacon couldn’t have that. There wasn’t any trace of pity in his grey irises, but he still didn't like it. He removed his hand and let Thomas pull his shirt down. 

“Thanks again,” he said while sitting up. 

“Don’t mention it.” 

“Where did you learn about that?”

“My wife.”

There was nothing but silence after he revealed that bit of information. Now that he fessed up, he hoped that Thomas would reveal something in return. He doubted it, but he tested him anyway. 

“Where did you learn how to fix engines?”

“....My,” he looked toward the door and away from him, hand toying with the hem of his shirt.”...My uncle.”

His eyes widened with surprise. It felt good in a sad kind of way that he trusted him enough to tell him. They stared at each other with a sense of understanding from both sides. Thomas got up. 

“I’ll be right back.”

He left before he could say anything about it. He wondered about what kind of life Thomas lived before the outbreak. He would make a good nurse or a doctor, but he was probably a university student at most. He seemed like the kind of person that would be good to have any form of relationship with: friend, son, brother, cousin...lover. 

He came back with two cups of steaming liquid. 

“I found some black currents since lavender didn’t work out so well.”

Deacon bowed his head a little at his comment and avoided his gaze. A tan hand held out a cup in front of him. 

“Be careful this time. I don’t want another baptism.”

The shame melted away and Deacon couldn’t stop the relieved grin from reaching his face. “You sure? I am a saint.”

Thomas let out a laugh before taking a sip. Deacon mirrored his action and let the aromatic hot liquid soothe his stomach. It was nice. 

“Walked right into that one,” he smiled while setting his cup down in the dresser by the bunk. 

“Yeah ya did,” Deacon chuckled before he sobered up. He noticed just how tired the blonde looked slumped in the chair like that, looking like he was ready to pass out any minute. “Hey Tom?” He asked, the nickname slipping out as naturally and easily as a sigh. 

His head perked up and his eyes widened. “Yeah?”

“Where are you sleeping? And don’t give me some general bullshit like “downstairs” or whatever.”

Thomas considered his answer before being fascinated with his shoes. “I uh… Look, it’s not a big deal,” he said while getting up to go downstairs. 

Deacon caught his wrist. “Hey. Just tell me.” He tightened on his wrist when he felt a sharp tug. 

Thomas sighed, giving in when he realized that he wasn’t going to let it go. “There’s an old truck in the lot, but listen!” He protested when Deacon’s eyes widened as the heat of anger rushed to his face. “It’s not bad at all, the seats are still in tact and the windows aren’t broken—

“You’re sleeping in a fucking car?”

“It’s fine, Deacon. If I say it’s fine, then it’s fine.”

“Fine my ass!” He barked. 

“If you say so.” 

“Don’t even,” he said angrily, tugging him to the bunk. “Lie down.”

“Deacon-

_ “Lie down _ .” He repeated with more edge and he finally allowed himself to be tugged to the bunk. He bunched himself up all the way in the corner and stared at him with heavy lidded eyes. 

“What about you?” He yawned.

Deacon marveled at how he could ask that after all the shit he’s done for him. 

“Don’t worry about me.”

Thomas nodded solemnly. He seemed to tense up uncomfortably a bit later as if he remembered something. “Uh, listen Deacon. You really don’t want me sleeping here.”

He quirked a brow. “Why the hell not?”

“You just don’t,” he said while scrubbing a tired hand through his blonde tufts, messing them up. 

Deacon resisted the urge to smooth them down. He crossed his arms and was once again alarmed by these urges that seemed to come out of nowhere. 

“Where were you sleeping before?” 

“Here.”

“So?” Deacon really didn’t understand what the problem was. 

Thomas bit his lip. “It’s different now…”

Oh. It was different now that he was here. Deacon was thankful for his poker face which masked any form hurt he felt from that realization. 

“You want me gone?”

“No!” Thomas cried, jolting upright. “No, no, no I didn’t mean- I just don’t—

“Thomas, listen,” he spoke while using the chair to help him rise to a stand. “It’s not a big deal—

“Stay.” 

Deacon froze where he stood and stared back at the blonde. His hair was tousled, lip red from constant biting, his shirt rode up his muscled abdomen, exposing skin, and Deacon wished he didn’t look so damn inviting. Most of all, it was his eyes that were so fucking intense like grey clouds that came with the promise of rain after a drought. He didn’t even notice that he was already seated back in the chair. 

“I’ll be here.”

Thomas seemed to like his answer because he gave him a small smile before it unfortunately melted away and he allowed his eyes to close, sinking into sleep. Deacon shook his head and tugged the chair closer so he could sit in front of the sleeping blonde and give him all the room he needed, which was not much. Thomas slept like he needed to make room for three people on the bunk and he wondered why before realizing that’s just who he was. A selfless, thoughtful, golden haired little smartass. 

He took another sip of his tea and wished he could join Thomas on the bunk, but the chair would do for now. He wasn’t about to go and hog the bunk some more. The kid had been sleeping in a goddamn car just so he could have his beauty sleep. 

In all seriousness, Deacon wondered how the hell he survived this long. He was extremely tactful and efficient, but he cared almost to a fault. If it’s one thing he has learned, it was that caring hurt more than suffering at the hands of weapons, freaks, rippers, or whatever the hell else was in the world. He didn’t know whether this was wisdom or cowardice on his part. Maybe both. 

He finished his tea and watched Thomas’s sleeping form. It was a while before he sensed something wrong because he started to shift uncomfortably in his sleep. His face scrunched up with anxiety and what looked like pain and he started to mumble. 

Deacon used the spine of the chair to help him rise up before sitting on the bunk. He settled his hand gently on his arm. 

“Tom?”

Sweat formed on his brow and his erratic breathing and whimpers tugged on his heart strings. He grew increasingly agitated as time progressed and this time Deacon was shaking him by his shoulders. 

“Thomas, c’mon get up.”

He shot upright and frantically fought his hold, sounding like a wounded animal. 

“Hey, hey, shhh,” he shushed him and tightened his hold on his wrists. He didn’t feel like getting punched in the face that night so he leaned forward to use his weight as Thomas continued to struggle violently. “Thomas— it’s Deacon. C’mon kid, wake up!”

“Deac’n?” He sounded so damn fragile. 

“Yeah it’s me.” He loosened his grip when the fight waned out him. “There ya go. Just settle down.” 

His hand left one of his wrists so he could instinctively card it through his golden strands. That seemed to calm him down more so he didn’t stop. 

“You’re awake now. It’s over.”

Thomas shook his head and buried his face into his hands. Deacon kept an ear out for any crying but he didn’t hear any, even though something told him that the kid could if he really needed to. He stayed like that: hiding his face from Deacon, looking so small. 

He waited a little before speaking. 

“You good?”

Thomas nodded. “M’fine.” He lied and turned toward the wall with his back to Deacon. 

He sighed as his hand went to cup his neck to give him an encouraging squeeze before letting go. He knew Thomas was awake, but he still stared at his stiff form nonetheless, wondering what the hell he had been dreaming about. Personal experience told him it was about his life adjusting to the outbreak. It always was. 

He heard a rattling noise outside and it had to be the fence. Thomas sat up immediately and they looked at each other, their eyes silently agreeing on what they heard. The blonde scrambled out of the bunk and crouched down. 

“Wait here,” he ordered over his shoulder before agilely and quietly exiting. 

When he heard gunshots, Deacon was quickly using one crutch to make his way over to his guns in the corner of the room. 

“Oh hell no.” He had enough of lying around and doing nothing. Someone had to have the kid’s back and he volunteered wholeheartedly. 

He opened the door and stepped outside, noting the shit ton of stairs he’d have to descend in order to be near Thomas. He started climbing down as fast as he could with one hand on the rail and the other on his crutch. He saw Thomas take cover behind a couple of stacked crates as he shot the intruders that surrounded the outer fence. On the opposite side, where Tom had his back to the bastards, Deacon saw that they began to aim. 

He shot the fucker before he pulled the trigger. 

He finally made it down and crouched down in the opposite direction of where Thomas was aiming. He shot at anything that moved around the bushes and put down a handful more. God, he missed being able to do something. Especially, if that meant having the blonde’s six. 

When all the commotion died down, Thomas approached him looking unexpectedly pissed. 

“I thought I told you to stay inside!”

“No, no,” Deacon wagged his finger at him and chuckled even though there was nothing funny about this situation. “You don’t get to tell me that. I’ve been taking out hordes, rippers, and these goddamn marauders since the start of this whole shit show, you got that?”

“Bravo,” he retorted sarcastically. “You forgot about the part where you limped down the stairs and could have easily been made for target practice.”

His nerves were officially aggravated. He straightened his posture and used the crutch to step closer so that he was towering over him. 

“Yeah? What about the part where these bastards were gonna put a round of bullets in the back of that pretty little blonde head of yours?”

“Then  _ let _ them,” he growled. 

Deacon froze. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Thomas glared at him and then tried to walk towards his bike, but Deacon shoved his shoulder. 

“Answer the goddamn question!”

“I said let them!” Thomas yelled. “If a bullet is meant for me, then it’s meant for me. Don’t go endangering yourself in the process by trying to cover me while coming down the stairs with a fractured ankle- in the middle of gunfire!”

“If it’s meant for you?” Deacon repeated. “What kind of shit logic is that? No bullet is meant for you and you know what,” he stepped even closer to affirm his point, “I’d do it again. In a fucking heartbeat. No questions asked.”

Thomas kept the hard gaze while his lips set into a firm, displeased line. He surprised Deacon by straightening his posture, refusing to back down. 

“Get your ass upstairs and get some rest.”

He tried not to think too hard about how the angry growl of his voice made Deacon want to pin him to the ground and let him know who's boss. 

“Go fuck yourself,” he shot back, but did what he was told anyway. 

Thomas let out an angry huff and walked straight toward his bike, riding the hell out of their encampment. 

Deacon paused on the fourth step, looking back at his bike. He changed his mind and walked- not limped- towards it to repair its engine. It was good to be outside again. Minus the gunfire, fractured ankle, and a pissed off golden retriever of course. 


	9. Chapter 9

It was late and his ankle hurt from moving about and crouching in front of his bike’s engine. He didn’t put any weight on it, but it still hurt when he had to pick it up only to rest it on the ground again. He was still in better shape than his bike, though. Poor baby must have been reduced to a scrap of metal when Thomas found him because it wasn’t looking too good now. Still, progress was progress, no matter how many parts he was missing. 

His previously scowling companion was already upstairs and sprawled on the bunk when he stepped in. 

“Hey Deac’n,” Thomas mumbled, looking flushed. 

“H-hey.” He didn’t expect a greeting of all things after their little argument, but Thomas wasn’t exactly acting like himself. Or smelling like himself. 

“Why do you smell like a six pack?”

“I foun’ some whiskey.”

Deacon raised a brow. “And?”

“And I drank it!” He snapped back, shielding an arm over his eyes. “They say it’ll help you forget. Guess they lied. Bastards.”

Now he really was curious. Deacon pulled up a chair and sat in front of the drunk blonde. It was good to sit down after those stairs. 

“Forget what?”

He sighed in something that sounded a little too close to defeat. “Family.”

Oh. 

He kept quiet, wanting to push, but he respected him more than that then to take advantage of his current state. 

“It should’ve been me, Deek.”

He frowned, not liking the sound of that. “What are you talking about?”

“I should’a been sold. Not him.”

This wasn’t making the least bit of sense to Deacon, but it didn’t sound good. “Sold?”

Thomas let his arm slump beside him and he peered at him through half lidded grey eyes. 

“You heard of camp Rider?”

“No, actually.”

“That’s cos it got overrun fast. An infected person was sold into the camp and poof! All gone.”

Deacon cleared his throat, feeling the apprehension in his gut. “Ya keep saying sold Thomas. What do you mean by that?”

“Like fucking slaves,” he muttered furiously. “You’re sold into the camp and get a number tattooed on your forehead. That’s your name from then on. It’s all hell from there.”

He swallowed thickly and noticed the smooth skin of his forehead. “But you’re not-

“Nope.” Thomas laughed, but it sounded hollow. “My father sold me, but I wasn’t the one to go.”

Oh shit. 

“He told me to take care of the place, Deac’n. Of the garden because the plants needed me.” Deacon watched as tears welled in his eyes. “I—I told him that he needed me and not some fucking plant, but he— he left—left and I—

The tears were running down the sides of his face now. Deacon’s heart clenched at the sight and he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Living and surviving in a shit world like theirs made him think he’s heard it all, but there was a surprise for everything. 

“What made him think that I wanted to live after he left, huh? What?”

“Thomas,” he gasped, hating that kind of talk. It was one you usually heard before that person went off and did something stupid. 

“It’s true!” He exclaimed, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “I wanted him and not the books, the garden, the bike—none of it! But now I can’t leave. He gave his fucking life for me and I gotta take care of the garden and— it’s—it’s not fair.”

Deacon pulled himself up so he could sit on the bunk. He pulled Thomas to him and wrapped his arms around his shaking frame. The quiet sobs were like taking a dagger to the heart. He rubbed his back in small circles. That’s why he had been so angry. He was angry and afraid that Deacon had saved his life because it reminded him of his uncle. It all made sense now. 

“Shhh.” Thomas buried his face into his neck, dampening it with his tears. He held on as if Deacon were his only lifeline, and he was beginning to think that was the literal truth. His arms tightened around him.“You’re alright now.”

He felt Thomas shook his head. “‘s my fault.”

“No,” Deacon whispered, “it ain’t your fault. Look, he— he wanted to protect and you and he succeeded. I couldn’t even do that.”

Thomas sniffed and and his sobs quieted for a moment. “W-what do y’mean?”

He sighed and rubbed his back quietly for a moment. “The night we tried to make it out…” he cleared his throat, deciding to hell with it. He looked down at the concerned grey eyes staring up at him and he knew he was in too deep. “She was stabbed by some infected little shit. We eventually came across one of those NERO choppers but they were overweight already and my friend at the time- actually more like my brother- his leg was hurt pretty bad and I… I couldn’t leave him.” It was like that night was right in front of him. Like Sarah was right in front of him staring at him. He swallowed thickly. “I later found out that the camp she stayed in was overrun. Hell, she survived the surgery, but those goddamn fuckin’ freaks…”

Thomas hugged him tighter. He felt him nod, but he thankfully didn’t say anything like “I’m sorry” or some other kind of bullshit like that. He simply acknowledged what he said and held him in return. 

Deacon registered how close they were. He instinctively went to hug him, but he was finally aware of their chests that were pressed together and their arms which were wrapped securely around one another. Thomas’s hand dropped down to press into his hip and he began to nuzzle his neck. It made heat to pool in his stomach as his mind created several images of how many poses and positions they can twist, hold, thrust, and pin while laying on the bunk. 

“Thomas.” His voice rumbled against the blonde’s mouth and he felt a kiss being planted on his neck. It made his heart excited. His mind knew better, though. “What— okay, what are you doing?”

“Take a wild guess,” he whispered against the shell of his ear and it made him hot all over. Even when he was drunk, he was still a colossal smartass. 

“Alright, listen,” he took his wrists and pushed him down on the bunk which was a mistake. Thomas looked so damn inviting under him with his hands pinned by the sides of his head, face tinted with a rosy pink, lips parted like they were waiting for him to seal them up. “You’re drunk.”

“And you’re hard,” he stated, arching his hips off the bunk to press against his crotch. Deacon inhaled sharply at the sudden pleasurable pressure, but he tightened his hold. 

“Shit,” he hissed, wanting nothing more to grind down and put him in his place, “s-stop it. I mean it.”

Thomas frowned but it looked like a pout more than anything else. “Why? Don’t you—

“Look, like I said, you’re drunk okay?” He let go of his wrists. “Turn around.” 

Thomas was grumbling, but he turned on his side. Deacon rolled his eyes and lay down behind him, swinging his arm over his upper torso, mindful of his burn. 

“Deac’n?”

“Yeah bud.”

“Please?”

He closed his eyes and stifled a groan. No one could say jack about his self control. After this, he was the most disciplined motherfucker there ever was. 

“Go to bed.” 

Thomas’s idea of “bed” was to press his ass against him. Deacon swatted him and he let out a little yelp. 

“I won’t tell ya again.”

He let out a frustrated groan. “Mood kill.”

Deacon hid his grin in his shoulder. “Serve’s ya right for downing the whiskey and smelling like a bar.”

“I’ll clean up t’morrow,” he mumbled tiredly. 

“Yeah, okay Tom,” Deacon snorted, “you do that.” 

Thomas’s breathing evened out eventually and he knew that he fell asleep. Deacon’s smile slipped off his face. The shit this kid had to endure was fucking brutal. By the sound of it, he hoped his dad was dead or he’d have to find him and put him six feet under for selling someone like Thomas. His blood—his son. Disloyalty of any kind made his skin crawl, but that degree of betrayal was enough to make him sick. He might be an undeserving asshole, but Thomas’s old man was worse than the freaks. 

May his uncle rest in peace. He had mad respect for what he did. His mind fed him a picture of a scarred, emaciated Thomas with a tattooed forehead, shoveling shit in some barb wired shack. His arm instinctively tightened around him and pulled him closer. He was spared from that life, but Deacon knew that Thomas would gladly live those days if it meant his uncle would still be alive. If it had been him, he’d have done the same


	10. Chapter 10

The sound of a bad hangover experience woke him up from his sleep. Deacon slowly opened his eyes, his torso pressed into the groaning blonde’s back. He let out an amused huff. 

“Mornin’.”

He grumbled something that sounded like a greeting. 

“Want a beer?”

“More like a twelve-step program,” he muttered, turning around to shoot him a glare. He sat up with a palm pressed into his forehead. He sniffed then grimaced. “Ugh, you’re right. I do smell like a bar.”

“You remember?” What we really wanted to ask was if he remembered their conversation and the extreme close call. 

“Of course.” He tapped his temple. “Memory like an elephant.”

“...m’kay weirdo.”

Thomas scoffed and shoved him before scooting off the bunk. 

“Wanna come with me?”

Not wanting to sound desperate, Deacon paused on agreeing immediately. These past three or four weeks was the most he’s ever slept and stayed indoors. 

“Where you headed?”

“There’s a reservoir not too far from here. C’mon,” he was already heading out the door in a hurry before he came back. “You, uh, need help?”

Deacon glared at him. “I’m not handicapped, Thomas.”

“Alright, alright.”

He grabbed one of his crutches and tucked his hand gun behind his belt before grabbing his radio. He made his way downstairs slowly but surely. He was thankful for the crutches but he couldn’t wait for the day he didn’t have to use them anymore. Thomas revved up the bike and he sat behind him grabbing the sides of his seat tightly before they began to move. 

Deacon was relieved that Thomas knew how to ride. It would’ve been an awkward and nerve-wrecking journey if he didn’t. He had a heavy foot though, but he wondered if it was because he wasn’t the one in control of the bike. 

When they made it to the reservoir, there were no freaks in sight. Still, they shouldn’t linger for too long anyway. Thomas began to undress himself, pausing when he caught him staring. 

“You’re not getting in?”

“Huh? Oh yeah- I am. 

He stripped and entered the water carefully as to not fuck up his ankle further. They began to scrub away the dirt, dried blood, and sweat from their bodies. Deacon scrubbed his hair too, and was actually glad he made the decision to tag along. The water made him feel more energized. 

“Don’t forget the back of your ears,” Thomas advised with a smirk. 

Deacon flipped him off and bit back a grin when he heard him chuckle. 

“You don’t wanna be talking smack right now.”

“Oh really,” Thomas grinned. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Deacon smirked. He tackled him in the water, struggling to keep a firm hold on him when he squirmed. He was full on smiling now when he heard Thomas’s laughter: joyous and carefree.

“Alright I tap out!” He exclaimed. Deacon let him go and he hurried out of the water, but not before taking his revenge and splashing him in the face. 

Deacon wiped his face. “Little shit,” he muttered without malice. 

Thomas held out hand and he gladly took the offered support, carefully getting out of the water. He passed him his crutch and he sat on a boulder, shrugging into his clothes. When he glanced up, it was Thomas who was staring that time, his steel eyes glued to the cross on his chest. 

“How’s the view?” he joked.

“It’s perfect,” he said without a trace of humor. 

He rolled his eyes, but the compliment made his gut flip all the same like he was a goddamn schoolgirl. Jesus, what was wrong with him? “You’re a fuckin’ cheeseball.” 

Thomas grinned and tossed him his cap and he caught it with ease, putting it over his damp hair. They should make it back before the sun set so they strolled back to the bike. Deacon tied his crutch to the back of the bike, securing it in place. 

“There’s a lot of bass and trout in there.” Thomas started the bike and he hopped on. “We could fish if you’re up for it.”

“Ah I dunno, Tom, I’m uh...not much of a fisher. More of a hunter, really.”

“I could teach you,” he offered excitedly, looking behind his shoulder to meet his eyes. “Nothing you do will be as bad as when I first learned.”

He supposed it would be a nice change of pace and of food. Not that he was complaining- Thomas’s venison stew was fucking spectacular, but after a week of eating the same meal night after night, he wouldn’t mind the taste of trout. Plus, it would make the kid happy. 

“S-sure yeah. Okay.”

Thomas gave him a winning smile before slamming his foot on the gas. Luckily, Deacon’s arms wrapped around his lean waist just in time. He was so close to falling off. 

“Jesus Christ, Thomas! Warn a guy!”

“My bad!” He shouted over his shoulder. 

Deacon kept his arms where they were, pressing closer to his back. They moved as one, shifting and adjusting their weight as the bike dipped with each turn. He shot a couple of freakers for fun when they chased the bike, but all in all there weren’t too many around their place. Not that there should be with Thomas doing a daily patrol around the perimeter of their place. 

They pulled into the lot, fence closing securely behind them. Deacon slowly removed his touch, even though he’d like to have kept it there. He turned around and untied his crutch, using it to slowly make his way up to the long ass stairs. 

“Can’t wait ‘till this damn ankle heals,” he grumbled while hauling his useless foot up the steps. 

Thomas seemed to have heard him despite the distance and no doubt he could feel his eyes were on him as he climbed the stairs. “It will. Make sure you’re not putting any weight on it.” 

It sounded more like a warning instead of heartfelt advice. Deacon wondered what the blonde would be like when he truly lost his shit because he was patient enough to deal with him. 

“You got it, doc.”

When he finally did make it upstairs, Deacon slumped down tiredly on the bunk. “Damn stairs…” he muttered. 

“Let me see,” Thomas said while sitting in front of him on the bunk. 

“It’s fine,” he groaned. “Just leave it alone.”

But he was already lifting his leg and pillowing it on his lap. “Swellings gone down a lot,” he noted. 

His ankle was still purple, but that was normal. 

“Satisfied?”

“Never,” Thomas replied, placing his hand a spot below his knee. 

The mental images were back and his body wanted the warm hand near his knee to touch him in a more upwards direction. 

“I’m sorry about last night,” Thomas confessed softly, looking down at his lap. “I don’t- I’m not usually, uh, such a mess like that.”

“It’s fine.” It’s not like he wasn’t a mess either. 

“Doesn’t seem like it is.”

Deacon frowned. “As long as you don’t do anything stupid, it’s fine.”

“Okay,” he snorted, “define stupid.”

“That which ain't smart.”

Thomas fixed him with an unamused look. “ _ Now  _ who’s being a smartass?”

He cracked a smile before he understood the seriousness of what he was really trying to say. 

“Stupid as in endangering your life.”

Thomas continued to avoid his gaze. “Pfft I don’t know,” he joked nervously, “drinking that much in the first place was pretty stupid.”

They agreed on something, but Deacon didn’t like that he wasn’t getting it. 

“Hey.” He nudged the side of his leg with his good foot and that caught Thomas’s attention. “I mean it. Promise me.”

His steel eyes widened as he swallowed thickly. “Promise you what?”

He wasn’t falling for it. “You know what.”

Thomas stayed silent for a moment. Deacon didn’t like it and he wondered what the hell he was planning on doing if he hadn’t been here. 

“That’s a pretty big promise.”

“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “ I know.”

He grew angrier as the seconds ticked by without an answer from the blonde. He was gently setting his injured foot down so he could get up. 

“I can’t.”

Deacon’s eyes widened with shock and felt a hand coil around his stomach. He gripped his wrist within a speed of light. 

“Why?”

Thomas himself grew angry. “How could you ask me that after what you heard last night?”

“The hell are you talking about—

“I’m done making promises like that, Deacon.”

He searched his angry, hurt eyes until it dawned upon him. 

His uncle’s garden. 

Suddenly, his mind was flooded with images of Thomas doing very  _ very  _ stupid things. Things resulting in a lot of blood and his body going limp in his arms. 

His grip tightened. “ _ Promise  _ me.”

“No,” he announced and tugged his wrist back before his other one too was in Deacon’s iron hold. “Shit- let go!” He struggled violently against his vice-like grip and Deacon yanked him down with full force before he flipped their positions so that the blonde was trapped beneath him, hands suspended above his head. 

“You’re not going anywhere until you promise me.”

Thomas grew more frantic in his movements, his face turning red with anger. “Let go!” He yelled, his foot accidentally ramming into his injured ankle. 

A painful cry escaped his mouth as the sharp pain in his ankle flared drastically. He let go of Thomas and collapsed on top of him instead, his ankle hurting like a sonofabitch. 

“Sorry! Shit- I’m so sorry!”

Deacon gritted his teeth and waited for the intense pain to die down. 

“Deacon I’m so sorry. I promise okay? I promise. I’m s-

“Alright!” He barked, pausing at the way he flinched. He groaned and tried to regulate his erratic breathing. He rested his forehead on Thomas’s chest, balling his fists. Hesitant arms wrapped around his shoulders and the hand rubbing his back helped calm him down. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Shut up, Thomas.”

The kid clamped his mouth shut and looked like he hated himself. Deacon sighed as the pain died down and he glared at the worried blonde. 

“That,” he said, “was stupid.”

Thomas stared at his mouth and nodded. It caused Deacon to mirror his actions and soon, the magnetic pull had returned, pulling their faces closer. 

This time, their lips met. 

He didn’t know who kissed who first, but he didn’t care because Thomas’s lips were warm and soft and felt so fucking  _ right _ against his. He growled into the kiss and leaned forward to press his tongue into his parted mouth, tasting the fresh mint on his tongue that he chewed every morning. He swallowed Thomas’s soft, pleased moan and it shot its way down to his groin. 

His rough kisses slowed down into soft ones until they broke apart for air. He caressed Deacon’s cheek and used his other hand to press him closer. 

“I’m guessing you’re okay.” His concerned, apologetic tone left enough room for him to say otherwise. 

“Yeah,” he said, thumb dragging over his bottom lip. His pain tolerance had definitely increased within the past two year, so he’d manage. He always did. It’s not like the life he lived before the outbreak was a soft one— going on tour and surviving the shit always left him with something aching and stinging. 

“Are you sure?”

Deacon let out a huff of frustration. He gripped his jaw firmly and it seemed to secretly please the blonde with the way his pupils widened and his mouth parted in excitement. 

“You heard what I said?” His tone was hard and biting, but all it did was rile up the body pressed underneath his. 

Thomas licked his lips. “I don’t believe you.” 

He caught the motion with his eyes and his heart raced when he thought of other places his tongue could lick. He knew he should have done something about his defiant answer, but all he could do was stare back into his wanting steel eyes. 

“Let me make it up to you,” Thomas offered in a low voice, while pressing up to plant a soft kiss to his lips. 

He’d be a damn fool to refuse. 

He leaned into the kiss, continuing to press their lips together even as their position shifted on the bunk. Deacon let Thomas gently flip him onto his back and straddle his hips. He stared at the blonde’s hard bulge straining against his pants and he resisted the urge to touch him now because he planned to give him all of his attention when it was his turn. Plus, it was hard to focus on anything when Thomas’s hands were pushing his shirt up and peppering kisses from his sternum, down his stomach, before pausing over his erection. Thomas glanced up, his eyes hungry and glinting with lust and playfulness before he started to slowly unbutton his pants and pull his zipper down. 

He was so damn aroused and excited when his hands peeled down his briefs and pants so that his cock could spring up. He inhaled at the change of temperature and his breath hitched when he felt a kiss being planted to the head while his hand squeezed his shaft. 

Deacon groaned and bucked slightly, wanting none of this teasing, soft shit and Thomas knew it from the way that he was smirking. 

“Get on with it,” he ordered and bucked his hips again when Thomas planted another kiss to his hard cock. 

“Yes sir,” he smirked. Addressing him by that title made his cock ache even more and it was so damn hot. 

“Oh f-fuck,” he gasped when Thomas wrapped his lips around his head. He slid his wet mouth down, down his length, and Deacon had to grasp the sides of the bunk when the tip of his head met the back of Thomas’s warm throat. It’s a good thing they went to bathe. Still, he could never predict this. 

He moaned when the blonde blew him with a fast and steady rhythm. He seriously wondered how the hell the kid wasn’t choking, but he didn’t think too long on it because his tongue was making him feel so damn good. 

“Ngh, Tom,” he groaned when he looked down to see his length disappear and reappear around his lips that were stretched open just for him. Thomas moaned around his shaft, eager and deep, and it caused him to moan loudly and thrust up into his slackened throat. 

Hands gripped his hips and pinned them down into the bunk. It seemed he wanted full control while sucking his cock and Deacon wondered why, but didn’t care because the sight and sensations he was feeling were close to making him see stars. 

Thomas looked gorgeous with his cheeks hollowed and his eyes that were wanton and looked at him as if he was the only thing in the whole world that he wanted. The lewd slurping noises and his hard moans that sent vibrations down his dick were enough to drive him insane. 

Suddenly, he felt Thomas slow down his pace and that would normally be fine if he wasn’t so fucking  _ close _ . 

“ _ Nononono _ , Tom- don’t slow down,” he gasped, arching his hips desperately into his mouth. Thomas hummed, but did exactly that. “Hn, I swear to God, Thomas, don’t you dare fucking  _ stop— _

His mouth and tongue slid up his cock before he released the tip of his head with a  _ pop _ . Deacon threw back his head and thrashed in frustration. 

“You are  _ so _ gonna fucking pay for that,” he growled. He heard the little shit let out a hushed chuckle before he felt  _ another _ damn kiss being planted on his cock. Deacon had enough. 

He fisted his blonde strands and  _ pulled _ so that his throat was stuffed once again with his hard cock. Deacon and Thomas groaned simultaneously as he forced his head to bob up and down in an unrelenting pace. Thomas grasped his hips firmly along the ride moaning, licking, sucking, gagging- trying to kill him with his mouth. 

“Nn-f-fuck Tom, I’m close-

Thomas sped up his pace until his orgasm began to build and build until it exploded. Deacon arched his lips and came with a shout. 

“Fuck- Tom! Oh fuck!”

Thomas slid all the way down, taking him full, and stayed there as he allowed all the cum to build in his throat. Deacon moaned repeatedly when he heard him gulp down every single drop. His fist relaxed and smoothed back his blonde strands affectionately.

Thomas released him and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before reaching down to yank his pants up to clothe him ever so thoughtfully. 

“C’mere,” he said, wanting him close, and pulled up the blonde so that he was pressed against his chest. “Holy shit, Tom.”

Thomas let out an amused snort. “Think you can forgive me?”

“Depends- are you gonna do that again?”

“If you’re up for it. Pun intended.”

“Then no,” he bluntly stated, the corners of his mouth lifting when he heard his laugh. 

His hand squeezed the clothed, hard bulge, causing Thomas to let out a gasp. He curled into his touch and Deacon smirked. Time to have some fun. 

“How long have you wanted to do that?” He asked, genuinely curious, as he continued to rub his hard bulge. 

“Awhile,” he hurriedly whispered. 

So he really wasn’t imagining this- them. Deacon felt relieved at this new found information but smirked at his reaction as he unbuttoned his pants. His hand dipped and cupped him through his briefs. 

“I read that book you gave me by the way.” He skimmed through it one evening when Thomas had gone hunting and he was bored out of his mind. 

“Wh-what did y-you think?” He hissed when Deacon rubbed and squeezed. 

“Didn’t like it. He doesn’t get the girl in the end.”

“Mmn-he’s not completely alone in the end th-though.”

“Yeah.” He was massaging his shaft now, loving the way Thomas twitched, trembled, and fisted his shirt, as if holding on. He was so fucking sensitive and it made Deacon’s head spin with delight. “He still lost in the end.”

“I th-think you’re missing the point- _oh_ _fuck,”_ he moaned when Deacon finally stroked him bare. He squeezed his neglected cock, stroking the tip with his thumb before sliding his fist down to his shaft then back up again. 

Deacon loved hearing his soft moans and the way he shut his eyes, trying to breathe through the pleasure. He jerked him off with a swift, rough tempo and he swallowed Thomas’s needy moans when he arched into his hand. His tongue filled his mouth and Deacon soon withdrew to bite his bottom lip before his hand began to perform a maddeningly slow tempo. 

Thomas bucked into his hand and let out a whine. “Deek.”

“Sorry,” he said unapologetically before speeding up his pace once more. He kissed his neck, biting the soft flesh when he felt his throat vibrate against his lips when he moaned. 

It was obvious that Thomas was close. His hips were arched as if surrendering his cock to Deacon’s hands, his eyes were shut tight, and his muscles began to stiffen as his orgasm built. Deacon’s hand stopped and squeezed his shaft, while his other hand held down Thomas’s hip, prohibiting him from thrusting. Poor kid still tried to anyway. 

“Mmnf Deacon!” He whimpered, thrashing in his arms, and it was almost enough to make him hard again. 

“Karma’s a bitch,” he said, but kissed him anyway- nice and slow. Thomas leaned into his mouth, desperate for some kind of contact, and they broke apart when the need for air couldn’t be ignored anymore. “You wanna cum?”

“What do you think?” He snapped. 

Deacon gave him two quick strokes before squeezing his shaft again and stopping. Thomas groaned and thrashed in his arms again and Deacon waited it out until he was still. 

“Cut the attitude or else you won’t be getting a damn thing.”

Thomas nodded at that, calming down. Deacon tested his obedience when he held his stiff leaking cock and was pleased when he didn’t try to thrust or move at all. He couldn’t help but run his hand through his soft blonde hair, admiring the way he leaned into his touch. “Good boy.”

The kid surprised him when he let out a soft moan at the praise and Deacon stored this neat piece of info, knowing he’d need it for later. His hand traveled up his cock to stroke him slowly, and he loved hearing his moans as much as his whimpers. When Deacon sensed him tense up again, he squeezed down once more, his head spinning at the dry sob that came out of Thomas. 

He planted a kiss on his forehead. “You close, sweetheart?”

Thomas moaned deeply at the nickname, nodding frantically against his neck. 

“What do you want?”

“Mmmph, I wanna cum,” he moaned profanely, and it was so fucking hot to hear. His hand stroked him at a medium tempo and he slowly started to tense up again. “C-can I?”

“No.” His hand slowed instead of stopping this time, and Thomas let out a frustrated, desperate sound. “Don’t you dare,” he warned. 

He knew he was overly-sensitive and couldn’t hold on for long, but Thomas was still trying to please him anyway and it was the hottest fucking thing he’s ever experienced. Even his slow stroking became too much for him. 

“ _ Deacon,” _ he pleaded desperately, the sound shooting its way down all the way to his fucking cock.

“No,” he growled, but continued to stroke him. “ _ No,  _ Thomas.”

He was quite the view. His entire body was arched and he was panting so fucking needily, with his slick, aching cock twitching in his hand. He smirked and began to stroke him faster at a cruel and merciless pace. 

“ _Oh fuckfuck!_ _Deek pleasepleaseplease!”_

Deacon felt strangely proud that he obeyed and held out for this long, so he decided it was time to stop fucking with the kid and reward him for a change. He already got his revenge and Deacon never knew it would be so sweet. 

“You wanna cum, sweetheart?”

Thomas screwed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth. “ _ Yes!”  _

“Go ahead then— cum for me.”

Thomas' mouth parted to let out a loud shout before he was spilling white strands of cum all over his hand. Deacon milked him of every drop until he came down from his high, twitching violently when his overly-sensitive cock was still being stroked. Deacon let go and wiped his hand on his pants before his lips were being smothered into a hard kiss. They broke apart before he could lean in.

“You almost killed me,” Thomas said breathlessly, his bones turned to water. 

“You’ll live,” he smirked while rubbing his back. 

He felt him smile against his chest. “Is that what your bad side looks like?” 

He was instantly reminded of all the stupid, insanely violent and dangerous shit he’d done when he was angry. “Nowhere near as close.”

“I should have known you were the vindictive type.” 

“Oh yeah? What gave it away?”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “It’s the hat.”

Deacon took it off and smoothed back Thomas’s blonde hair before planting his cap backwards. It’s not that it didn’t suit him, but covering his hair seemed like a waste to Deacon. 

Thomas gave him a crooked grin. “Am I cool now?” 

Deacon snorted and folded his hands behind his head comfortably. “If cool meant dorky, then yeah.”

“I’m guessing I’ll have to add jealousy to the list.”

Thomas was enjoying staring at him without his cap. The blonde ran his fingers through his dark strands and it made him stiffen. Time after time this would happen to him, Thomas would do something affectionate and he would turn into a damn statue at random and it didn’t make any sense. Or maybe it did? He had been alone when it came to the affection department for over two years when he was cut off from his old life. Thomas would be a fool not to notice, and he did notice, but he kept going anyway. 

Deacon cleared his throat. “O-okay what is this a damn palm reading?”

“Depends at how accurate my reading is. Am I close?”

His thumb was stroking the scratchy beard hair on his cheek. It was his eyes though, that really did a number on Deacon. He looked at him as if he was valuable, even precious, and he wanted more than anything to look away. So why didn’t he?

“Sometimes jealousy isn’t the right word,” Deacon said. “You could say that I’m, uh, more...protective.” Sometimes he was too overprotective according to Sarah, but with the way things turned out, he’d say he was not nearly enough. 

“I think that happens when there’s a potential threat to lose someone.” His thumb moved onto caress the side of his mouth. “Like if a loved one starts to become seemingly closer with someone else, then it probably feels like they’re drifting further away from you. Then I guess both of those types combine.”

“Y-yeah I guess. You speaking from experience or…?”

“No I- I’ve sort of observed it in other people. The jealousy part I mean, but…” Grey eyes locked with his dark ones,” I am pretty protective about the people I care about.”

Thomas was like a cliff. It was so tempting for him to jump off the edge and dive head on to whatever this was between them, but Deacon knew that would take him back to square one. 

“What about you?”

His question made him snap out of his thoughts and blink several times. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re the palm reader,” he said evasively. “You tell me.”

“I’m asking you.” His gaze remained unwavered and it occurred to Deacon that there was no escaping or bullshiting him. And that’s exactly what unnerved him. 

“Yeah I am,” he huffed, wanting nothing more than to drop the subject. “Almost to a fault, so can we drop this now?”

Thomas’s hand fell from his face and he straightened up. “Drop what? I’m just-

“Just what?” He said, taking his face into his hands and giving him a little shake. “You don’t know me, Thomas-

“I never claimed that.” A look of hurt and confusion crossed his handsome features. “Deek, we’re just conversing. Is that such a crime?”

Deacon let out a hollow laugh at his answer. He was beginning to  _ sound  _ like Sarah now. Shit, what would she think of him- of  _ them?  _ And just like that the warm body on top of him that made him feel so good mere moments ago was suffocating him and the walls of this sanctuary were starting to close in. He pushed Thomas off of him and he slid onto the bunk beside him before he snatched the crutch against the wall. 

“I need some air,” he said, and quickly made his way outside. He leaned over the railing and stared at his bike below, knowing he’d ride out of here had it been fixed and his ankle permitted him, but… he wondered if he could do it. He wondered if he could ride out of here out of Thomas’s life without looking back. A part of said of course he could do it, that he’d been running away from so many people and from so many things. The other part of him, the more quiet and ignored part, said that it was different this time. 

His eyes fell upon the garden. Rows of corn, tomatoes, carrots, leeks, and cabbages stretched out to the end of the large plot and it took up a good half of the space. Thomas didn’t do anything by halves as each one of the rows of crops looked to be well taken care of. The thought that this garden was the bane of the kid’s existence yet it nourished him and kept him here fascinated him. He didn’t know whether he was lucky or cursed to take care of something left behind by someone he loved. On the one hand there existed a sense of purpose, but on the other it was filled with a constant reminder of their absence. 

Sometimes the better, smarter part of his mind sounded like Boozer telling him to get his shit together. In this case, Boozer was telling him that Sarah was gone and here was another chance at something real. Of course if he actually said this, Deacon would kick his ass, or try to anyway. That didn’t work out so well for him last time, but that’s besides the point. He’d tell Boozer that he fucked it up last time and what’s to stop him from doing it again? Thomas deserved better. Way better. And even though he was right, Deacon couldn’t ignore the fact that no one else was lining up to steal the blonde away from him- not that he’d want them too but... 

His hands tightened on the cold rail until his knuckles paled considerably. He was the only one the kid had at this point. Of course, he didn’t know for sure, but Thomas spoke of no visitors and he hadn’t met any. It made him feel even more guilty. God, he felt so fucking guilty. He combed a heavy hand through his hair and bowed his head. 

“I’m sorry, Sarah.” 

The sun had long set and the stars were starting to appear again. When he decided to go back inside, Thomas was curled up on the bunk with his back to him. He froze when he saw his worn cap beside the sleeping blonde as if that’s exactly where he should be. He swallowed the lump in his throat and gently picked up his hat, wearing it again. He gingerly sat down on the bunk, checking to see if he had disturbed Thomas, but then slowly laid down when he didn’t stir. Their backs pressed against each other and Deacon focused on that for the remainder of his sleepless night.

When some number of hours had elapsed, Deacon had turned around at some point to stare at the blonde’s sleeping face. The guilt he had been feeling all night began to fester within him again, and when he caught the stirrings of another nightmare, he gladly used that as an excuse to smooth back his golden hair. His heart contracted at the thought of leaving him when he was calmed by his touch. He was tired of running. He was tired of being such a coward and hurting Thomas as a result. He pressed closer to tuck his chin over his head, continuing to stroke his hair. 

He promised Sarah that he’ll never forget her and he’ll never forgive himself for failing to protect her. He decided that being with Thomas wasn’t moving on, so that was okay. Right?


	11. Chapter 11

He watched him stir and Deacon sat up a little straighter. Thomas slowly opened his grey eyes before they widened at how closely their bodies were pressed together. 

Deacon took a deep breath. “Uh, morning.” Smooth. 

Thomas narrowed his eyes at him which was never a good sign. He sat up wordlessly before climbing over him to sit in the chair and put on his shoes. 

“Oh c’mon Thomas,” he totally did not whine and reached for his wrist, but missed it. 

He grabbed his pistol from the desk and tucked it into his belt silently. 

“So you’re just gonna ignore me?”

Thomas slammed the door on his way out and he felt the bunk shake from side to side. 

“Guess that’s a yes,” he sighed. 

It’s not like he didn’t deserve it. Hell, he should be glad he’s not being pummeled, but Deacon was used to being punished with that kind of pain. This was completely unfamiliar and it made him feel twice as worse. 

He used his crutch to walk to the balcony, noting the pain was diminishing from his ankle. Finally some good news. He watched Thomas turn on the hose and water the crops with a deep frown on his face and Deacon mentally kicked himself for putting it there.

He figured he would hop onto his bike and speed off, which he did. He envied him because it had been over a month since the last time he was on his bike and a month in his case was too damn long. Deacon made his way downstairs and over to his bike. Why was it always the fuel pump that was wrecked every time he had an accident? This shit was bad luck. 

“There’s gotta be something I can use around here,” he muttered under his breath. 

He looked around the myriad of tools and parts, making sure not to rummage too messily and piss off the blonde even more. Deacon finally gave up searching downstairs after several useless hours of turning up squat. He decided to go back upstairs and see if anything was stored there. Maybe Thomas kept another drawer dedicated to scrap or something. 

Deacon searched through every single cabinet and drawer until he came across an old shoe box that was tucked above the medicine cabinet. He almost didn’t see it and he was using the chair to carefully balance on his good foot in order to grab the box. When he hopped down and opened the lid, Deacon felt extremely uneasy. 

Inside the box was a bunch of neatly tied lavender and a fuel pump. He must have stared at the contents of the box for several minutes in shock and confusion. Why would Thomas hide the one part he needed to fix his bike? It just didn’t make any sense. He told Deacon that he rode off in the mornings to do a patrol around the area, but also to scavenge for parts and scrap for his bike, yet here it was. The last piece of the puzzle was right here and it was coupled by the one flower whose scent haunted him for years. 

He waited downstairs for him since he was angry and wouldn't come upstairs. While he waited, Deacon went ahead and fixed his bike for good, filling her up with gas before he hopped on and her engine revved to life. He smiled and missed the purr of the engine beneath his hands and he was extremely tempted to go out for a drive, just one, but he told himself that he could wait. 

Deacon quickly dismounted his bike as he watched Thomas drive back in. He needed answers first. 

“We need to talk,” Deacon said as he approached him on his bike. 

Thomas let out a sound of amusement. “That’s rich coming from you.” 

Deacon inhaled sharply and kept his pride in check knowing he deserved that. He walked past him to head somewhere he wasn’t. 

“I found the fuel pump,” he announced and watched how Thomas froze at his words. “Now I ain’t much of an organizer, but shouldn’t it be down here with all of the other parts?”

Thomas had a sad and downright anxious expression when he turned around to face him and it made Deacon halt in his tracks. His fists soon enough tightened in anger. 

“Congratulations,” he spat. “You found the prize and are free to leave.”

Deacon ignored how his words hurt him and he stepped closer, searching his eyes. “You want me gone?”

His grey eyes narrowed. “You have some fucking nerve to ask me that,” he growled, inching closer. “Did our time together mean nothing to you?”

Deacon cringed at how straight up his question was and there was once again no escaping his question. 

“I never said that—

“No, but you act like it!” Thomas yelled. “It’s like every time I get a bit too close, you blow up! And I get it Deacon, I really do, the past is a bitch to face, but that doesn't give you an excuse to drop everything and run away!”

Deacon couldn’t hold back the anger anymore and his eyes darkened at his words. “Quit the ‘holier than thou’ act, Thomas! You act the same way every time your uncle comes up!”

“At first- yeah! But there’s this thing called trust and even though it’s always a risk, I happen to think you’re worth it.”

Deacon felt like someone punched him in the chest. He screwed his eyes shut and looked away, trying desperately to form an answer. “I…it’s...hard. You, uh, remind me of her and…”

Thomas didn’t seem phased even though Deacon thought his confession would cause him to simmer down. He felt cornered by his sharp gaze. 

“Okay you know what?” Deacon yelled angrily. “Fuck this. I’m not doing this. Why’d you hide the part?”

Thomas let out a humorless laugh. “Unbelievable.” He began to walk away again, but Deacon would not stand for it. He grabbed his shoulder and spun him around before he was being pushed back. “Don’t!” Deacon stepped closer again to grab his wrist and he was being shoved again. 

“Why’d you hide the part, Thomas?”

“Screw you!”

Deacon tightened his grip on his wrist before seizing the other one. They struggled until they lost balance and Deacon quickly recovered in order to pin the blonde to the ground. 

“Get off—

“The part, Thomas!” He shouted. “Why did you hide it?”

Thomas ceased his struggling and Deacon’s breath caught in his throat at how tears seemed to form in the younger man’s eyes. 

“Why do you think?” He whispered. Deacon stared back at him in silence, incapable of assuming such an answer. Thomas must have taken that as a sign because he drew in a painful breath before shaking his head. “Just go.”

“W-What?”

“Leave!” Thomas yelled. 

He let go of him as if he’d been burned. It all happened so fast and in a blur. Before he knew it, Deacon was seated on his bike and riding out of there, leaving Thomas on the ground behind him. 

He didn’t speak or think about anything as he drove away. Deacon slammed on the gas and the sound of the roaring engine and the wind rushed in his ears. He didn’t know where he was going, but he didn’t care. He needed to put as many miles between him and the one person he didn’t think he was capable of loving, but did. 


	12. Chapter 12

  
  


Deacon felt his insides turn into cold, heavy stone by the time he pulled over to an abandoned shack to refuel his bike. Now that his adrenaline went away, he seemed worse because he surrendered to the one instinct he said he would ignore. He felt like an addict that gave into an impulsive fix even though the recent one was vowed to be his last. 

He didn’t know if giving Thomas some space for the next couple of days was a good idea or not, but he did it anyway. He spent his time sleeping in an abandoned bunker not too far from Thomas’s place. Deacon didn’t think he could venture out another mile because it seemed like he left a good portion of himself with Thomas, and he’d just be roaming around for the rest of his life emptily. 

He considered radioing Boozer because it had been a whole week since their last conversation. The silence was really starting to get to him on the third day. He didn’t know if it was because he was used to conversing with someone almost everyday for the past eight weeks. It was jarring that the only sound he heard underground was the sound of him moving and breathing. Deacon remembered him praying for this type of silence in the past after Boozer’s arm and he had to deal with other people’s bullshit to try and patch him up, but he wasn’t so sure now. The silence he heard was a little too loud and the loneliness he felt was a little too suffocating. 

“This is Deacon St. John to Boozer.”

_ “Deek? Haven’t heard from you in, like, a week man.” _

Deacon’s mouth set into a small smile. It was good to hear his voice. 

“Hey there, Boozeman. What you been up to?”

_ “I don’t know if you heard, but I’m head of security now. Pretty much that and takin’ care of Jack.” _

His ankle is better and Boozer’s shoveling shit days are over. Deacon was thankful some bit of good news still existed. 

“Congrats on the promotion.”

_ “Heh yeah. Thanks.” _

“How’s the little guy?” He asked thinking of the scruffy adorable pup. 

_ “Not that little anymore. I’m plannin’ on trainin’ him when he’s a little older, but he’s so damn useful even now- he’s like my second arm.” _

Deacon never thought he’d truly be over the fact that he was the reason Boozer lost his arm, but it was good to hear his amends were working to some degree. Boozer sounded happy and that in turn made him feel a bit better. 

_ “So man- what about you? How’s the ankle?” _

“Oh it’s, uh, better. Way better.”

_ “Shit, that’s a relief. You’re lucky that guy found your dumbass when he did. What was his name?” _

Deacon decided to let his “dumbass” comment go since drunk driving was a very dumb thing to do. He cleared his throat as his mind fed him the image of Thomas lying on the ground where he last pinned him, looking hurt and betrayed. 

“Thomas.”

_ “Yeah, I knew it started with a T.” _

“Hey Boozer? I uh ...gotta ask you somethin’.”

_ “I’m all ears.” _

He slumped his head against the wall and shut his eyes for a moment. He attempted to find a way to phrase all the complex emotions and decisions that had been spinning in his head for the past two months into a single question. 

_ “Deek?” _

“Yeah, I’m here.” He took a deep breath and rubbed the space between his furrowing brows. “Would you ever, uh, shit okay, would you ever wanna meet someone new?”

_ “...Meet someone new?” _

“Yeah like… after Joany.”

There was a minute of awkward silence that made him nervous. 

_ “I don’t know. It sounds like you have.” _

He coughed. “What?” 

_ “Is it that Thomas guy?” _

He sat there with wide eyes wondering how the hell he pieced it together. 

“How did-

_ “You’ve never asked me somethin’ like that and that guy is all you ever been talkin’ about the last couple times we talked. Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out, Deek.” _

He couldn’t believe he was even having this conversation, but he figured this played into the whole “quit running” aspect he was trying to work on. Why did it have to be so damn hard?

_ “Where are you now?” _

“I don’t know, Boozer. In some bunker.”

_ “You two fight?” _

Deacon wondered if he was that transparent or if Boozer was secretly psychic. 

“Yeah.”

_ “Is he as good as you’ve told me about?” _

Deacon remembered all the times he’d shown him kindness as well as calling him out on his shit just like how Sarah did, but in his own way. He remembered how they fixed his bike together under the sun, Thomas would hand him what he needed and Deacon would throw a piece of scrap at him playfully every time he mouthed off about how he was “doing it wrong.” He remembered how they talked under the stars with a cup of blackcurrant tea he brewed just for them. Thomas would tell him how he dreamed of opening up a huge bookstore with spiral staircases and comfortable chairs, and Deacon would love the way his eyes would shine brilliantly like sparkling metal in the sunlight every time he was excited. 

Most of all, he remembered how he held him after his nightmare, rubbing his back, murmuring comforting words, holding him until his demons quieted. He shouldn’t have done it. Especially since Deacon had stupidly burned him with scalding hot water before, but he stayed. He put his own well-being above his and he stayed to hold him. 

“He’s better.” Deacon spoke, feeling as though he lost something priceless. 

_ “Then what the hell are you waiting for?” _

He screwed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. 

“I can’t, Boozer. I fucked it up and I will fuck it up and he deserves better.”

_ “That’s bullshit, Deek and you know it.” _

“It’s not-

_ “Shut up! I’m so fucking tired of hearing you punish yourself for God knows what!” _

“Boozer,” he angrily started, but he wouldn’t let him finish. 

_ “No, Deek. Listen to me for a sec. Even if you’re right, this Tom guy already knows that, if you two have made it this far. It ain’t just about you.” _

“What- what do you mean?”

His tone softened on the other end of the line.  _ “No one’s perfect, brother. You just gotta decide if this guy is worth the risk.” _

Deacon nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat. “Thanks Boozer.”

_ “Ah don’t mention it. Now get your ass back there and don’t be a stranger.” _

“I’ll see you soon, brother.” A visit to his closest friend was long overdue. 

_ “You better or pretty soon I’ll have to send Jack over to sniff you out and drag you back. Boozer out.” _

Deacon smiled and got up to climb out of the bunker. He grabbed the sheet he had put over his bike and yanked it off, straddling his bike once more. 

A black cloud of smoke rose above the trees and Deacon stared at it curiously before his eyes widened with realization. Shit. It looked like it was coming from Thomas’s camp. His heart plummeted down to his gut and he was racing over there as fast as his bike could take him.


	13. Chapter 13

He passed a couple of Ripper corpses on his way inside and Deacon staved off the panic that threatened to consume him. 

“Holy shit,” he whispered as he gazed at the burning crops. The flames were taller than him already and Deacon spurred into action by grabbing the hose at the end of the yard and spraying the angry flames. “Thomas!” He yelled and coughed. 

He protected his nose and mouth with his shirt and kept watering the fire that seemed to be slowly dying down. He didn’t see Thomas which either meant that he wasn’t here at all or he was upstairs. The panic and apprehension intensified at the thought of a Ripper sneaking into the camp and upstairs to possibly torture or kill him. 

“C’mon, c’mon,” he muttered impatiently while putting out the fire. After what seemed like an eternity later, he made sure the fire was snuffed out for good by continuing to water the burned crops. 

He didn’t have the time to lament over the loss of such fruitful hard work because Deacon dropped the hose and all but ran upstairs, gritting his teeth at the pain in his ankle. He was supposed to go slow, but there was nothing about this situation that allowed him to take his time. 

“Thomas!” He called breaking the door open. 

Thomas was crumpled into a ball on the bunk. Deacon could tell that he was visibly shaking and he was clutching something Deacon couldn’t quite make out. 

“Thomas, it’s Deacon,” he said, carefully stepping closer. 

Thomas looked up at him indifferently with red rimmed eyes before returning his attention to the wall. It was like the blonde had barely registered he was there and Deacon knew it wasn’t a good sign. Still, he was alive and Deacon could breathe a tad bit easier. 

“Are you hurt?” 

“I had one job,” he whispered fiercely, not meeting his gaze. 

Deacon nodded. “I saw the Rippers outside.” He tried getting him to talk because Thomas’s eyes were glossed over and unfocused. “Thomas,” he called, trying to get his attention. 

“One job,” he mumbled to himself again.

Deacon’s gut performed a flip when he saw that what he had been cradling all this time. 

“Thomas,” he warned, “remember when I said don’t do anything stupid?”

Thomas shook his head. “You don’t get it.” A broken smile split his face. “I’m free now.”

The panic he was suppressing rushed in like a dam that was being held back with flimsy wood. 

“No you’re not,” Deacon said, extending his hand for the pistol. “You made a promise to me.”

“Yeah,” Thomas snorted, “and I also made a promise to take care of this place, but,” he gestured to the room as if it was one grand surprise, “here we are.”

“C’mon bud, give me the gun.” 

Deacon slowly inched closer and kept his eye out for any sudden movements. Thomas looked broken: his bloodshot eyes were sunken with grief, his face was red, and his hair was stained with patches of ash. His body was trembling and all Deacon wanted to do was hold him so tightly that all his broken pieces fit back together. What hurt to witness most, though, was the fact that he was still suppressing his breakdown. Even at his most vulnerable and unstable moment, Thomas hid his emotions behind a sarcastic smile which screamed _ , “This is the way it is. To hell with it then.”  _

That kind of quitting pissed Deacon off. 

Thomas dropped the smile and sobered up for a split second because of his gentle comment. “You know...you weren’t supposed to be here for this.”

“Well I am,” he said gruffly. Deacon took another step and thanked his lucky stars he was here and not after Thomas had _ \-  _ nope. He was  _ not _ gonna think about that because Thomas wasn’t going anywhere. “Now give me the goddamn gun. “

Thomas had the nerve to let out a hollow laugh. “No can do  _ sir. _ ” He pressed the muzzle of the gun to his temple and Deacon’s heart lurched into his mouth. 

On instinct, he grabbed his own holstered gun and mirrored Thomas by pointing it to the side of his head. The color drained from Thomas’s face and he dropped the quitter attitude and grew livid. Good. Anger was something he could work with. 

“Are you out of your fucking  _ mind?” _

Deacon shrugged, knowing just how much it would irk as well as unnerve the blonde. “Maybe,” he admitted, “but it’s your call.” His dark eyes locked onto his lighter ones, holding his gaze with his hard one, not even taking a moment to blink. “You go, I go.”

Thomas flinched at his words, mouth pressing into a firm line. His eyes shifted back and forth, mind racing with what to do until he narrowed them and studied his face like a hawk. “You’re bluffing.”

Deacon narrowed his eyes as well. “You wanna bet?” He challenged steely. 

They glared at each other in defeating silence, both of their fingers on the trigger. Deacon heard his heartbeat ferociously admits the silence as he waited for him to make his decision. Thomas looked like he wanted to shoot him instead, but he was soon slowly lowering his gun. 

“On the floor,” Deacon ordered when he placed it beside him on the bunk. 

“You first,” he shot back. 

He tried to stifle the rush of anger that floated to the surface. “I ain’t the one who started this. On the floor.  _ Now.” _

Thomas gently placed the gun on the floor in front of him. Deacon made the mistake of holstering his weapon because Thomas lunged down for the pistol again. Deacon switched into auto pilot and punched him  _ hard. _

Thomas’s eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped forward and began to fall, but Deacon caught him. 

“Shit, shit!” He cursed, running his hand over his face. “Thomas?” He gave him a little shake and welcomed the relief that came when he heard him groan painfully. Guilt barged in without an invitation and it made Deacon to cradle his handsome albeit worn face in his hands, caressing his cheekbone with his thumb apologetically. 

He hoisted him up and onto the bunk before he crouched down to collect his pistol. Thomas would easily find it if he hid it inside so Deacon walked over to the balcony, emptied the bullets, and tossed the gun down below, muttering a good riddance for now. He still had his holstered, but he wasn’t too worried about that because although the blonde was fast, he wasn’t that fast. 

He took in a deep breath and let it expand in his lungs before he exhaled and turned back to go and inspect the damage. Of course much of the real damage was psychological, but Deacon didn’t mind hammering the fact that Thomas wasn’t going anywhere into that golden head of his. He sat beside him and watched his closed eyes, knowing he was gonna have a hell of a headache when he was conscious which would pretty soon. Had he knocked the kid’s lights out with an object other than is hand, the wait would be longer. 

Still, he wished it didn’t come to this. He thought he had dealt with the Rippers, but it seemed that no matter how efficiently you destroy the nest, a few parasites would always be on the loose. He wished one of them were standing in front of him now so that he could beat them to a bloody pulp. Just because he had failed Sarah, Boozer, and Thomas in some way, didn’t mean there wouldn’t be hell to pay. Marauders, Freaks, Rippers, and any other sonofabitch who thought it would be a good idea to fuck with the people who were closest to him had it coming. 

His weathered hand rested on top of Thomas’s ashen one. He wouldn’t admit this to any other living soul, but when he saw the trail of Ripper bodies, the garden up in smoke, and Thomas, the idiot, pointing a fucking gun to his head, it scared him. It scared him right down to his fucking bones at the thought of losing him and it unnerved him just how determined he was to end his life. It made his teeth clench and his grip on Thomas’s hand tighten just thinking about it… no. Thomas wouldn’t let this go. He had been too damn persistent and the one thing that gave him purpose and tethered him to his sanity had been literally burned to the ground. A quick hug and a kiss was not gonna work. He had to think of something, of some way to anchor him once again. 

Oh. That could work in the literal sense. 

Deacon went downstairs to find some rope, knowing just how crazy he was. 

“He’s too unstable right now to think straight,” he justified to himself while rummaging through various crates in the mini open-faced garage. “Bingo.” He fisted the neatly tied rope and went back upstairs, taking it slow. 

His running around in his newly healed ankle had made it sore. Thomas may not be able to grab his holstered gun, but he could certainly run away if he wanted to. He coughed because of the polluted, smoky air and he eyed the garden with a sad gaze. What a fucking shame. 

Thomas and his uncle before him must have put countless hours into that garden. It seemed so unfair at how easily some things could be destroyed. His life was a testament to that.

He paused on the last step. 

“No,” Deacon muttered to himself. He wouldn’t settle for that kind of perspective anymore. Gardens could be replanted given some time. They’ll get there. 

He walked back to where Thomas was lying, his gaze softening at how troubled he looked even when he wasn’t conscious with his brows furrowed and mouth slightly parted. Deacon’s hand smoothed his hair back before setting to work. He grabbed both of his wrists and tied them to the metal headboard of the bunk, making sure the knot was secure. 

Thomas shifted and slowly opened his eyes with a loud groan. He must have wanted to use his hand to press it to his head, but when he couldn’t he opened his eyes and tugged at the ropes. Deacon frowned, knowing he hated this and pulled up the desk chair to sit in front of him. 

“What are you doing?” Thomas demanded. 

“Making sure you don’t do anything stupid.”

Thomas let out a sound that resembled a frustrated, angry growl before he was tugging wrists again. “Untie me. This isn’t funny-

His gaze hardened. “You see me laughin’?”

“Let.  _ Go _ .”

“Not a chance, sweetheart.” 

Thomas clamped his mouth shut at the nickname and glared at him, shifting gears. “I don’t know why you’re doing this. There’s practically nothing left for you here.”

If only he knew how wrong he was. 

“I seriously doubt that,” he said, sitting back in the chair. 

Thomas looked at him as if he was joking. “You don’t seriously mean  _ me _ right?”

Deacon kept his gaze and said nothing. 

“Aw, Deek, that‘s really sweet,” he remarked with a sarcastic, borderline mocking tone. “But you and I both know I can’t replace your wife.”

Deacon’s nostrils flared and he grabbed his face in a crushing grip with his hand. “ _ Don’t _ .”

Thomas pressed up into his grip, refusing to back down. “It’s true. That’s why you left-

He clamped his hand over Thomas’s mouth, muffling his yelp, and he leaned in until the tips of their noses almost touched. “Don’t make me gag you.”

His grey eyes shone with anger and it was a wonder why he didn’t try to bite him. Deacon wouldn’t let go until he made his point across. 

“Leaving in the first place was a big mistake. I said you  _ remind _ me of her- the good parts of her. I don’t know where you got that in your head, but I’m not looking for a replacement, understand?”

Deacon let go when his anger seemed to simmer down visibly. With the anger gone, Thomas looked so damn tired. 

“Then why did you come back?”

He sighed through his nose and looked down for a moment. He sounded so fragile even though he was capable of taking the entire world’s beatings without letting out a sound. Deacon couldn’t help himself and he cupped the side of his neck, thumb stroking his jaw. 

“Turns out you’re worth it.”

Thomas’s eyes widened and watered before he blinked the tears away. He turned his head from his touch and looked away, thinking rapidly. That was fine. Deacon held on a moment longer before letting go and taking his seat again. 

“Get some rest,” he advised, staring at his dark circles, “I’ll be here.”

He gave his wrists enough space so he had enough freedom to twist around and so that the ropes wouldn’t cut off his circulation. Thomas turned his back to Deacon wordlessly, obviously upset, but then again, upset might not even cover it. 

He slumped back into the chair, letting out a tired sigh, and he scrubbed a hand down his face. Well, he did it. No one said confessing would be easy and he even told himself that it was gonna be hard, but they’ll just have to move on upwards from here. Deacon didn’t know where the final destination for them would be, but he sure as hell knew the last thing Thomas was gonna do was kill himself. Over his dead body. 

The funny thing was, was that even when he had a death wish, Thomas still gave it up for him. Deacon frowned. Well, almost. He did try to lunge for the gun afterwards but still, that selfless streak within him actually reminded Deacon of Boozer much more than Sarah. Not that he was complaining, but there were many nights where Sarah would prioritize work over anything… even him. Hell, the night he proposed to her under the stars and by the waterfall she left for the office. He wasn’t bitching, really. He was just… pointing out some of the differences between them that he hadn’t noticed before. 

“Deek,” Thomas croaked, turning onto his back. 

Deacon sat up immediately. “Yeah.”

He tugged the ropes again. “Please.” 

The need in his hushed tone really did a number on him. 

“Tom, we’ve been through this,” he strengthened his resolve when he saw the way Thomas thrashed frustratingly because he already knew his answer, “I’m not letting you go.”

“Look, I..I promise I’ll behave, okay? Just-

“The same way you promised me you wouldn’t do something like this? Sorry if I don’t buy it.”

“This is bullshit!” He snapped. 

“Bullshit is you tryin’ to off yourself!” Deacon retorted. 

“That’s not bullshit,” Thomas scoffed, “that’s what should have happened the day my own father tried to sell me, so none of this shit would have happened.”

He hated hearing that kind of talk and the idea alone made him feel white, hot rage all over. It infuriated Deacon that he believed that to be the absolute truth. It didn’t help that he spoke calmly and surely as if the worthlessness of his existence was as factual as two and two equaling four. 

“No, your old man deserves to fucking rot in hell for what he did, but enough about that.” He leaned in closer with his hard glare. “The real waste ain’t the garden— it would’ve been  _ you _ . If you kill yourself, it’ll be like your uncle died for nothing—

“Shut the  _ fuck  _ up! _ ”  _ Thomas roared, his face red. He started to writhe on the bed, desperately trying to yank himself free while cursing up a storm. He bucked his hips and his legs flailed violently as he tried to get away. 

Deacon watched with a stunned yet grim expression. It felt like an hour before all the strength in Thomas’s system was drained. His hands and feet grew limp, but his chest started to heave. Uh oh. 

“Shit,” Deacon muttered, and rushed out of the chair to kneel beside Thomas. His eyes were glossed over and he drew in a series of fast, uneven breaths that seemed to further escalate his panic. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Deacon took his face into his hands. “Tom, open your eyes,” he gently ordered when the blonde screwed them shut. “I need you to take a deep breath, alright?”

“Can’t,” Thomas choked out, fighting the invisible hand clamped around his throat. 

“Yeah you can,” he coaxed. “ With me. Inhale- good, exhale. Again. In and out.”

Thomas finally got some proper oxygen into his lungs, but Deacon didn’t stop until he saw that he had significantly calmed down. 

“Good job,” he praised while rubbing his arm. It seemed like every time that thought crossed Thomas’s mind, his body tensed up and a fragment of the panic returned. “Don’t think about it.”

He let out a humorless laugh. “How can I not think about it? It was because of me that he-

His hand cupped the side of his face again. “Don’t focus on that right now. You’re mad at me, so focus on the anger. It, uh, helps. Trust me.”

He was glad that the blonde leaned into his touch instead of flinching away. 

“I’m not mad at you,” he muttered. “I wanna kill you, but I’m not mad at you.”

Deacon grinned at that, smoothing back his golden hair from his face. “You know, you’d be surprised. I get that a lot.”

Thomas tugged at the rope again. “I’m not surprised,” he said with a shuddering breath. “It’s part of your charm.”

“It’s nice to see ya still have your sense of humor.”

“Thanks. I’d say the same, but…” Whatever he was going to say never made it out. He watched his red-rimmed eyes begin to water. 

Deacon couldn’t resist wrapping an arm around his waist and lean forward so that their chests pressed together. He came so close to losing him and Deacon didn’t even get the chance to be near him like this. He stared at Thomas’s lips, wanting so badly to kiss him. His thumb grazed his bottom lip and Thomas regarded him with a stunned expression, though Deacon didn’t know why. He had expressed in the past that he wanted him, but it seemed he’ll have to demonstrate one more time… later. 

With everything that happened, it might be too soon and too much, even though Deacon was aching to have him again. He couldn’t wait to show him just how much he cared, how much he meant to him, but Thomas’s well being was his priority right now. 

“When’s the last time you had a bite to eat?”

His stunned expression morphed into dejected one. “M’not hungry,” he mumbled, looking away.

“That ain’t what I asked.”

Thomas sighed. “I don’t remember.”

“Are the beans and rice still in the same place?” 

“Yeah,” he frowned. “You... know how to cook them, right?”

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” Thomas fixed him with a doubtful look. “I know how to cook rice, Thomas!”

“Just makin’ sure...chef.”

There it was. Deacon gave his shoulder a light squeeze before pecking his lips in a quick kiss. 

“Comin’ right up.”

He went downstairs and found a huge box of canned beans and packaged rice which thankfully weren’t stored anywhere near the burned garden. He grabbed them and headed over to the one big pot they used to cook meals and he poured the rice before heading over to the hose to wash the rice. Deacon wasn’t a world class chef, but he would usually make breakfast for Sarah at her place: eggs, bacon, pancakes or waffles depending on who won the verbal match that morning. It was crazy to imagine he’d be cooking for someone like that again. Granted, under extremely different circumstances, but it still was essentially the same thing. 

After about ten minutes, the rice was absorbing the water and cooking nicely. 

“Pfft, I know what I’m doin’.”

He added the beans last and stirred. When it was done, Deacon grabbed two wooden bowls that were carved and admired the craftsmanship on them for a moment before heading upstairs. 

Thomas was staring up at the ceiling, brooding and looking as miserable as ever. Deacon ignored the twinge of guilt that resurfaced. He’d let him go eventually, but it all depended on Thomas and how quickly he would choose to pick himself up and move on. It was up to Deacon to be his crutch now. 

“Order up.”

Thomas used the headboard to help him sit up, eyeing the bowl warily. 

“Thanks,” he said as if instinctively trying to reach for the bowl. “Uh- okay. I guess you have to cut it for now, otherwise I can’t really eat.”

Right. Deacon sat beside him, trying not to wince as he prepared himself for his outburst. “Not a problem,” he said as he raised the spoon. 

Thomas gave him an incredulous look that was borderline comical. 

“You’re kidding,” he deadpanned, mouth slightly agape. 

Deacon grimaced, “I, uh, wish I was.”

“Deacon, I’m not a baby!”

Squeezing in a joke there would be far too easy and cruel, so he settled with,

“Yeah, I know.”

He was starting to get red from the anger again. “Then quit playing around and cut me loose so I can eat.”

“Sorry, Tom.”

“This is such bullshit!”

“Listen-

“I’m not hungry.”

Deacon looked up exasperatedly. “Oh for the love of— look, let’s just get this over with—

“No,” Thomas snapped and turned his back to him so he could brood at the wall. 

His lips thinned as his patience began to dwindle away. “Don’t make me force you. I mean, Christ, can we cut the tantrum and eat?”

“You have some nerve,” he shot back, turning around. “Picture yourself in my shoes. You’d act a lot worse.”

Completely. But he wasn’t going to admit that.

He took hold of the spoon and raised it near his mouth. “Open up.”

“Ugh… Anyone ever tell you you’re a stubborn bastard?”

“Learned from the best,” he smirked. 

With a frustrated sigh, Thomas opened his mouth to welcome the food and Deacon tried not to stare too hard at his parted mouth. He cleared his throat and gazed at the way the wooden spoon entered his mouth before slipping out. Deacon thought it would be awkward, and it probably was for Thomas, but nothing was awkward about the way his hands were tied above his head, powerless to resist him. There was something so hot about the way Thomas couldn’t do anything but accept each mouthful Deacon fed him. 

He watched each mouthful of rice and black beans disappear into the blonde’s mouth, making him fuller. Thomas licked his lips and Deacon’s eyes followed the action. He leaned his head back and studied him with sharp grey eyes that roamed his eyes, mouth, and back up to his eyes again. 

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?”

“Uh, what makes you say that?”

Thomas tilted his head to the side slightly, eyes glinting appreciatively. “You have this one look…”

Deacon licked his lips. “I do?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

A grain of rice stuck to the corner of his mouth and Deacon leaned in to scoop it up with his finger, bringing it to his own lips. Apparently, Thomas also had a look of his own before it seemed like he stopped himself from totally giving in, his smirk forming back into a frown.

“I, uh…” he trailed off, trying to either find the right words or cover up what he really wanted to say. “Thanks for the meal.”

Deacon placed the empty bowl on the dresser next to the bunk before digging into his own bowl. He didn’t eat much in the past three days in that shitty bunker, so his empty stomach welcomed the food with open arms. It was plain and nothing at all like what Thomas cooked up, but it would do. 

“I like your stew better,” he admitted. 

“Yeah,” Thomas sighed. “You’ll miss it for a while,” he said, remembering how their one source of produce had been burned to the ground. 

Shit, way to go, Deacon. Of course he had to shed light on the one thing he was trying to forget. Stupid!

“Sorry.”

His heart grew heavy at the sight of Thomas’s eyes tearing up again. He blinked them away and set his mouth into a grim line, turning his face and body toward the wall. A handful of minutes later, and Deacon heard his breathing even, so he must have fallen asleep. 

He stacked his empty bowl on top of Thomas’s and rose out of his chair to lie down on the bunk. He pressed his torso into Thomas’s back and gently settled his arm over the other’s waist. He fought the urge to turn him around and crush him to his chest when he remembered just how close he came to losing him. Deacon took a deep breath and then exhaled. He was alive. They were together, and that’s all that mattered.


End file.
